And Innocents
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Forever on Thanksgiving Day The heart will find the pathway home.Wilbur D. Nesbit
1. Chapter 1

…And Innocents

By: Ridley C. James

Disclaimer: Nothing Supernatural belongs to me. They are all figments of Kripke's creative and fertile imagination, although I have done a little splicing and branching out with some of his characters like Caleb and Pastor Jim.

A/N: The beginning chapter of this story picks up where Martyrs and Saints leaves off, although it is not necessary to read that one to appreciate this story, for the entirety of it is set mostly pre-series. In case you're wondering, **NO** 'new' second season characters are mentioned in this story either positively or negatively, even though it has a _Brotherhood AU _twist. So, if you are a fan of some of those characters, I have not touched on them and this should be a safe read.

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"_**Men travel side by side for years, each locked up in his own silence or exchanging those words which carry no freight-till danger comes. Then they stand shoulder to shoulder. They discover that they belong to the same family."**_

_**-Antoine de Saint-Exupery**_

Outside of Fayetville, West Virginia, December 7, 2006

Dean threw his things onto one of the double beds in yet another crappy hotel room he would be sharing with his younger brother and sighed. "If you're done talking on the phone, princess, you can help me finish unloading the car."

It had been a long afternoon, even a longer morning, having interviewed the few witnesses to the apparent ghostly appearance of a headless phantom haunting a local high school gymnasium. Turns out the place was more One Tree Hill High than Hogwarts, and one of the local jocks had merely wanted to terrorize his ex-girlfriend. Although Dean did give him credit for actually digging up a rotting corpse to play the part. But grave desecration wasn't theirs to handle, unless they were the ones wielding the shovels.

Sam rolled his eyes at him and continued yammering into the phone, punching a few keys on the lap top as he talked. Either the twenty-three-year-old was talking to Sarah, which was doubtful because those heart-to-hearts had petered out fairly quickly, especially after the run in with the demon and their father's death, or he was conversing with Reaves.

Dean frowned at the thought. The other hunter had been checking in with a regular frequency, which in all honesty was what Dean wanted, but it was also annoying because Caleb seemed to be trying to do what Dean wanted him to do-which was not the way the eldest Winchester wanted it at all. _Damn him. _

"Sam!" Dean snapped, clicking his fingers together in a snapping motion. "I'm not bringing your shit in. Broken arm or not, you're pulling your own weight."

His younger brother gave him a demonstration of just how much his dexterity had improved on his injured hand by saluting him with his middle finger, but still didn't move from his spot at the desk.

Dean growled. "Tell Reaves you don't have time to fuck around on his case. We have work of our own to do." It wasn't true. They hadn't found one interesting thing in Fayetville since their original gig went bust-except for the New River Gorge Bridge, which only made Dean think of Caleb, and the fact he wasn't thinking about Caleb.

Sam frowned at him and made a big show of punching the end button on his phone. "That wasn't Caleb, jerk. It was Rebecca. She called to say a late Happy Thanksgiving. Her and some of my other friends were on the pre-finals skiing trip." A hint of sadness, remorse maybe, momentarily replaced irritation. "It's the first one they've gone on since Jess-since I left."

"Sorry," Dean said, regretfully. "I didn't know."

"Right." Sam favored him with a sour look. He closed the lap top. "What is your problem, anyway?"

"I don't have a problem."

"You've been pissy since we left Fayetville."

Actually it had been since they crossed that expanse of that stupid bridge-the longest arch in history, not to mention the highest in the country. Dean really hated heights. "Nothing's wrong with me. I'm just irritated with young love gone to the hell hounds. I mean zombies, pacts with the devil, and now decapitating helpless corpses. It's all these freakin' horror movies-you know that, right?"

Sam's frown grew. "This from guy who wanted to sell his autobiography to M. Night Shyamalan?"

"I was going to change a few things first." Dean's mouth twitched. "For one you were so going to be a hot girl I picked up somewhere along Route 66-played by none other than Jessica Alba."

"Good. I'd rather not be included in your morbid Brothers Grimm-like porn-fest."

"Fine, but when I'm rolling in the royalties don't come around crying for change for your next venti caramel mocha latte fix."

Sam rolled his eyes and started past him to go and get the rest of his things, but noticed his duffel by the door. "I thought you left my stuff in the Impala."

Dean shrugged and picked up some things to head for the shower. "I must have gotten it by mistake."

Sam gave him a doubtful glance. "You just wanted me off the phone."

"I thought it was Reaves."

The younger hunter propped his hands on his hips, eyed his brother in an all too familiar way. "And what is it with you and Caleb?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you have been pissed at him for a few weeks now. What's the deal?"

"There is no deal. I just don't like him telling us what to do."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Dean, he's not been telling us what to do. He's trying to help."

"Well, I don't want his help."

"Since when? You've never had a problem asking for it before. I thought he was your best friend?"

"Best friend?" Dean snorted. "Do we look like we're in elementary school to you, Sammy? You want to pass me a note so I can check yes or no to whether I still want to toss some football at recess with little Caleb Reaves?"

"I know what this is really about."

"You do?" Dean shook his head. "I forgot that you've become an expert on my feelings lately. Please, oh great Zambini, tell me what's going on."

"You're afraid he's going to get himself killed-just like…"

"Shut-up, Sam!" Dean growled. "Not everything comes back to that."

"Doesn't it?" Sam was so tired of beating round and round the same dried-up bush. "You started acting all weird when Caleb gave me the journal, when he sold Tri-Corp. You going to tell me that didn't send warning bells going off in your head."

Actually it had been his gut. That pit in his stomach that had told him something was terribly wrong back at the hospital all those weeks ago before his father had died had kicked in with fervor again-screaming at him that something terrible was coming. "I'm going to take a shower."

"He called this morning while you were getting breakfast."

Dean stopped his trek into the tiny bathroom, but didn't turn around. He instead lifted his gaze to look at his brother's reflection in the vanity he was facing. "So."

"He's in North Carolina, checking out something for Boone-said he wouldn't be able to contact us for a while. He said he didn't want you to get your girly panties in a knot when he didn't check in like a good little soldier."

That ache was back-had been lurking in the dark recesses since he'd seen that bridge. Dean had felt something as the steel beast had come into view. When they crossed over it an old, long, lost friend crept across him like a shadow of a stealthy enemy. Sort of like smelling apple pie and seeing Jim Murphy's smiling face flash before his eyes, or eating a peanut butter cookie and remembering the phantom feel of his mother's embrace around him. The weathered steel had conjured Caleb's deep voice, even over the blaring Metallica filling the Impala's interior. _'The Earth be spanned, lands be welded together.' _

He cleared his throat. "How long is a while?"

Sam raked a hand through his hair. "I'm not sure. He was going undercover in some kind of cult."

At that Dean rolled his eyes. "Him and his damn Jonestown complex." Anger filled in the tiny fissures in the wall around his emotions, pushing out the worry. " Besides, what's the deal with him thinking I want him to check in any fucking way? I could give a shit if he misses Christmas." He didn't want to celebrate the fucking holiday to begin with. To him it would be just another day, just like Thanksgiving.

Sam shook his head slightly at his brother's emotional roller coaster routine. "You ever think it might not be about you, Dean. That maybe it has something to do with him."

The older Winchester frowned. "Like what? He gets to feel superior about keeping us away from the Roadhouse and the other big, bad non-union hunters."

"No," Sam sighed. "That maybe he was use to checking in with Dad every week or so-that maybe he misses him."

No. That couldn't be it. Because that would mean Caleb was carbon-based just like the rest of the human race. Just like the rest of the people that had up and died on him. It would mean whatever scary-assed, psychic mojo Dean was feeling might actually be some kind of freaky warning. "Now you're just anthropomorphizing."

Sam looked disappointed, and it sent another lancing pain into his older brother's heart. "And he said he'd still meet us in Virginia-whether that matters to you or not."

Damn it all to hell. It was easier to be pissed than concerned or remorseful. "Sure he will, Tiny Tim. Just keep telling yourself that along with that little fantasy about Scrooge showing up with that huge turkey and all the trimmings. Santa might even bring you that Optimus Prime you never got."

Sam wasn't going to bite. He was tired of letting his brother off the hook. "Caleb's never lied to us, Dean. He's done some things to piss me off over the years, but he's never broken a promise."

"Well I can recall a few he's screwed me over with."

"To save your life, maybe," Sam countered, sticking up for the other hunter.

Didn't his brother realize enough people had let him down for that very same reason. "Yeah, it's easy to make excuses when it's your hero you're talking about, Sam."

His brother held his gaze, and Dean felt the moment the other man's frustration changed to that empathetic pity Sam was so prone to. "You're right. It is." After all, Sam had watched his brother do it for years. Hell, he'd even gotten some practice in rationalizing Dean, especially since losing their father. The pained look on his brother's face and the mounting tension between them had him suddenly craving some much needed space. He grabbed his jacket and the Impala's keys. "I'm going to get some food."

"Wait," Dean's voice stopped him, his hand hovering over the door handle.

"Did Caleb happen to say what the name of that cult was?" Maybe Dean would just look it up. "Say what kind of situation he was walking in to?" Get a feel for what might be going on.

Sam turned and looked at him, shaking his head. "No. Some of that need to know basis shit that was drilled into his head, I guess."

Dean nodded, swallowing thickly. "Yeah."

Sam's countenance softened at the lost quality to his brother's voice. "Look. He'll be fine, Dean. Joshua's close by to back him up."

"Yeah, well Joshua's an idiot and Caleb won't listen to anything he says."

Sam sighed heavily. "He'll be in Virginia."

The older Winchester shrugged it off. "Of course he will. Bastard won't miss a free meal and a chance to ruin my favorite holiday."

"You hate holidays, Dean," Sam pointed out.

"Exactly, Damien will want to be around to make sure I'm enjoying myself."

"Yeah, because he hates you so much."

His older brother nodded. "Remember that Thanksgiving back in 2001? He just couldn't let it go."

The younger man shook his head trying to dislodge the unwanted memory and opened the door. "And for that little stroll down memory lane, you're getting a salad." He couldn't help but to think of how close his brother had come to dying that year, and Caleb, too. They'd nearly lost both of them.

"Bring anything less than a double cheeseburger and fries, Sammy, and Caleb won't be the only one in the doghouse." Dean called after him, collapsing face-first onto the bed after the door slammed shut.

The young hunter rolled over to his back, feeling exhaustion prickling at him. The shower was forgotten as sleep seemed to be much more of a priority. He stretched and let his arms come to rest beneath his head, his eyes blinking as he fought off a jaw-popping yawn. Dean tried to tell himself he was just being ridiculous about the whole 'bad-feeling' thing. After all, Sam was the weirdo psychic in the family.

But then his wandering gaze found the picture over the desk on the far wall, and his heart skipped a beat. It was a landscape of recently traversed Fayetville, West Virginia, and Dean knew that because dead center, glaring accusingly back at him, was the New River Gorge bridge. Now who was anthropomorphizing?

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_a/n: This would have been out sooner but is being a well...you know. Hope you enjoyed. Reviews are always welcome and appreciated. -Ridley _

_Big Thanks to Tidia for her wonderful job of Beta on this. And for helping me research Kentucky-where Jim's farm will be based. bg. _


	2. Chapter 2

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_Outside New Haven, Kentucky, November 2001_

"I hate bridges," Dean muttered to himself. He dug through Caleb's CD case and tried not to think of the death trap they were traveling across in the middle of bumfuck Kentucky. "Who in the hell put a bridge way out here anyway?"

Reaves snorted. "Probably the same people who got tired of taking the ferry across that big puddle of water beneath us called a river." He glanced at the other hunter. "And what have you got against bridges, Deuce?"

"For one, they're high. And I'm not much for the whole heights thing. Another-they ice over before anything else." He gestured out the window where snow was flurrying around them. "Need I say more?"

The dark haired psychic shook his head. "First bridges and now you have a gripe against the white stuff. You're just Mary Sunshine today, you know that?"

"Since I'm on a roll." He raised a brow at the other man, waiting for him to shoot a quick look his way. "What the hell is up with your music?" Dean held up a case and shook it. "Where's the Metallica? Skynyrd?"

"In the Eighties where they belong, kid. Let it go."

"Creed? Eminem?" Dean sighed. "Did you steal these from one of Sammy's high school friends?"

Caleb looked offended. "I'll have you know, Deuce, that Eminem is the Walt Whitman and Robert Frost of this generation."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Poe with a mommy-hating hang-up maybe."

"Isn't there some kind of road-tripping rule about the driver picking the music." Reaves grabbed the Creed CD and slid it in with a smug grin. "Now I remember. Shot gun shuts his pie hole."

"As long as it's not Enya again."

"I told you that was Mac's." Caleb growled.

Dean smirked. "Sure it was."

Reaves shot him a look. "You could walk the rest of the way."

"Jim would kick your ass if you showed without me."

"I'd just tell him that Carmine took a liking to you-demanded I sweeten the pot before he would come off with the goods."

"Shut up." Dean snarled, remembering the way the freaky antique dealer had stared at him. "It was definitely you that he was checking out, Damien."

The older hunter laughed. "Happens with women all the time, but I wasn't going to point it out. Why take hamburger when you can get prime rib, kiddo."

Winchester ignored the jibe, glancing out at the worsening weather again. "If they knew you liked Yanni, you'd never get any action. Although, Carmine might still be interested..."

"Do you really want to continue this?" Reaves shot him a look. "Because any conversation about music or weapons always seems to end badly."

"You're right." Dean crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back against the worn leather seat. "We could talk about the box."

Caleb's eyes unconsciously went to the package sitting between them in the bench seat of Jim's old truck. The pastor had sent them to an old contact of his across the state line in a rural part of Tennessee to pick up an artifact that had been causing some trouble. Murphy was afraid others would be interested in it, namely Daniel Elkins, who had quite the 'antiquities' collection. Jim wanted to get his hands on it first, just to be on the safe side.

"Or we could just open it?" Reaves suggested, and garnered the reaction he was expecting.

"Are you crazy?"

"Are you afraid?"

"Of Jim?"

Caleb's mouth quirked, lop-sided smile appearing. "Yes, the pastor."

Dean shot him a challenging look. "That collar doesn't fool me for a minute. And like you're not scared of him."

"Didn't say I wasn't." He shrugged. "But really what has he ever done for us to be afraid of him? The man lets us get away with murder."

The younger hunter thought for a moment. "Dad's afraid of him."

Caleb frowned, shot Dean another quick look. "Good point."

"Mac and Bobby do what he says, too."

"True."

They had gone through the same conversation the night before when they had picked up the artifact. It and a few shots of tequila had even led them to brazenly remove it from its plain brown wrapping paper, revealing an intricately carved wooden box.

"We could just take a quick peek. What could it hurt?"

"Pandora probably said the same thing."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I mean, how will he know?"

Caleb agreed. "It's not like he's psychic." He sighed, glancing back down to the rewrapped package. "Too bad Sammy's not here. We'd make him do it."

Dean's cell suddenly rang and he groaned. "You just had to say his name, didn't you."

Reaves' grin reappeared at the exaggerated put upon quality in his friend's voice. Dean had already mentioned his younger brother several times since they had crossed over the Kentucky state line. Caleb had no doubt that the older Winchester had his fill of alone time away from his annoying sidekick. "Ask him if he's killed Tom, yet?"

Dean snorted and clicked the phone on. "Whatz'up?"

"_God! When are you two going to get over that annoying commercial?" _

"When it stops bothering you." Dean shot Reaves a look, and the older hunter laughed. Sam had grown quite tired of the Budweiser imitations, which only made them more fun.

"_Where are you? You were supposed to be back hours ago." _

"If you haven't noticed, Nags-a-lot, it's snowing outside."

"_I've noticed," _Sam harrumphed. _"I've been chopping firewood all morning." _

"That's a good workout. Dad's idea?"

"_No. Dad's not here. He's gone with Bobby to check out some possible possession." _

"Sounds like fun. You not up for pea soup surprise?"

"_Dad said I needed to stay here and research." _

"What would we do without our girl Friday?"

"_So are you guys close by?" _

"You miss us?"

"_That would be a 'no'. But Jim said you both could start getting things together for Thanksgiving when you got here."_

"By getting things together do you mean, getting the axe together with Tom's neck?"

Caleb laughed and he could hear Sam growl into the phone._ "Change in menu. We're having ham." _

"Oh really. Since when?"

"_Since Tom got loose." _

"You let him go you little shit, didn't you?"

"_Prove it." _

"Turkey and pumpkin pie are the only things I like about Thanksgiving, Sam."

"_And here I thought you hated the whole holiday." _

"Well, now you've ruined it for everyone."

"_Everyone, except Tom." _

Caleb grabbed the phone away from Dean. "Tell me you did not set that bird loose, runt. I traded Bobby a perfectly fine blade for that stupid deep-fryer and I picked that monster gobbler out myself-paid a ridiculous amount for him, too."

"_One of Farmer McCrary's daughters gave him to you." _

"Yeah…and you have no idea what I had to do in trade. Farmer's McCrary's daughters are healthy, Sam. Corn-fed healthy-kind of like old Tom, himself."

"_Maybe you and Dean should get back before dark then so you two can go out and look for him, if you have your hearts so set on turkey." _

"Maybe we'll have your scrawny little ass on a platter instead and …"

Dean took the phone back from him. "Sam, Dad is so not going to be happy about the bird."

The teen snorted._ "Dean, Dad will be fine as long as there's some whiskey or brandy to wash everything down with."_

Caleb sensed the moment the playfulness left the conversation. He glanced over at Dean in time to see the younger man flinch. He sighed. Sam had gotten really good at hitting those nerves lately.

"Bye, Sam," Dean ended the conversation and stuffed the cell back in his coat pocket.

" So…" Caleb took a deep breath, trying to think of something to say. "Looks like that whole conversation we had about what weird things Jim would cook out of left-over turkey this year was for naught."

"Naught?" Dean cracked a hint of a smile. "Did you just say naught?"

"Shut up."

"Wait till I tell Mac. It will be like an early Christmas. His dreams of having a geek son fulfilled."

"Or you could just tie Sam up, stick a bow on him and put him under the tree."

Dean nodded, looking out the window again. "It's an option. The tying up part sounds fun."

The next words were privately thought, but seemed so loud to Caleb's in tune senses that he almost thought they had been spoken aloud. '_Maybe we'd all be happier.'_

His reply was automatic and obviously unwanted. "Dude, you don't mean that."

Winchester turned his gaze from the snow to glare at him. "Privacy-look it up."

"I'm not trying to get in your business, but…"

"Then don't."

Caleb shrugged. "Fine." If Dean wanted to talk to him, he'd do it on his own time-in his own way. "But _I_ for one was really looking forward to Jim's famous deep-fried turkey cakes, not to mention the turkey omelets."

Dean laughed slightly. "You're sick, Damien."

"This from the weirdo who puts gravy on his corn."

"It's good."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that Mikey."

"Why don't we just have hamburgers for Thanksgiving this year?"

"Hamburgers?" Caleb snarled up his nose. "Next you'll be suggesting we have…"

"Deer!" Dean shouted loudly, causing Reaves' eyes to dart back to the road. In front of them, just off to the side, stood two does and an eight-point buck. Three sets of brown eyes focused on the tiny fawn that had just darted out into the center of the snow-covered road.

"Shit!" Caleb cursed, jerking the wheel hard to the right to avoid the baby deer that had frozen at the first sight of the truck's headlights. He instinctively threw his other hand out in front of Dean.

The old, heavy ford would have held to the road just fine if not for the fine layer of icy precipitation clinging to the pavement. Reaves was grateful the country lane was deserted as he crossed the center line, then back over to their side before barreling completely off the road, towards the dense wooded area around them.

Tires hit the end of pavement. They were airborne, bouncing across terrain, then plummeting thought trees at an accelerated rate until an abrupt meeting with a huge oak stopped them with an impressive shattering of glass and crunching of steel. The last cognizant thought Caleb had was Bambi had gotten off a lot luckier than he and Dean. A whole hell of a lot luckier.

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_a/n: Thanks to my awesome beta-reader, Tidia, for putting the finishing touches on this. And thank you all who have reviewed, time has kept me from replying to most of you individually, and I'm sorry for that. I have to corral time to write these days and I hope that I convey my gratitude by these mass thank you's. It does not mean that I don't appreciate your kind words, suggestions, and questions. I do. A LOT. It's definitely an incentive to keep my fingers going, even when I think I may be producing less than perfect product. _

_To answer some questions…yes, this is the story where Sam gets his ring. And thanks to Tidia, you will also get a flashback within a flashback, within a flashback of how Dean gets his ring. Bg. Did you follow that. If not, keeping reading, it will become clear-hopefully. _


	3. Chapter 3

**_"We forget that there is no hope of joy except in human relations. If I draw up the balance sheet of the hours in my life that have truly counted, surely I find only those that no wealth could have procured me. True riches cannot buy friendship of a companion to whom one is bound forever by ordeals suffered in common." _**

_**-Antoine de Saint-Exupery**_

"It's not like it was a lie," Sam grumped, turning the page he had just spent the last ten minutes reading and re-reading. Since having his brother hang up on him, the teen had gone from fuming to feeling slightly guilty. It was like his emotions were on some kind of roller coaster he had no manual control of. "I mean…Dad hates the holidays-especially Thanksgiving. He usually drinks like a fish." Sam looked over the top of the book, giving his quiet companions a knowing look. "This is the first year in the last three that we've even celebrated it. And that's just because we ended up here because of a job."

Scout whined, nuzzled her snout beneath the teen's arm until the kid let the big Lab root her way half into his lap. Harper Lee yawned and stretched lazily on her pillow by the fireplace in the far corner of the library. "And Dean was being a jerk before he left. If he'd just stood up to Dad then I could have gone, too, instead of staying here with Pastor Jim like some kind of little kid." Sam and his father had gotten good at putting Dean in the middle of their disagreements. And Sam had gotten use to his brother taking his side.

"I'm almost seventeen," Sam pointed out, putting down Dickens' Christmas Carol, and picking up the phone. He fingered the buttons, trying to decide if he should call his brother back. "A ten-year-old could have done the stupid research."

Scout sighed in contentment as Sam hit the appropriate doggie erogenous zones. "Of course, that's the problem. I'm the closest thing they've got to a ten-year-old." He let his head rest back against the couch cushions. "I'm always going to be the baby to them. I'll probably be 'Sammy' until the day I die."

Scout rolled over belly-up begging for the next level of canine rapture. The teen obliged her, continuing his lament. "And if they had really wanted to eat Tom, they shouldn't have given him a name. I mean you don't name your food. Next thing they'll want to eat the chickens, Pearl and Buck, or Harper Lee over there." The Beagle pup raised her head and cocked an ear as if suddenly interested in the dialogue. "I couldn't let them do it. Did you see the way he was looking at us when we fed him this morning? He knew his days were numbered."

Harper Lee rose from her pillow doing a quick bowing stretch before picking up the worn furry squeak toy by her side and bringing it to drop ceremoniously at Sam's feet as if to say enough with the pity party, kid, let's play.

The teen sighed and picked up the matted brown and gray fur that in its prime had passed for a squirrel. He felt his heart clench as he turned the toy over in his hands. It didn't even make much of a noise anymore, but it had been Atticus Finch's favorite. Jim hadn't the heart to throw it out after the big, lovable Golden Retriever had died at the ripe old age of seventeen.

Even though it had been five years ago, Sam still remembered the summer they came to Jim's and only Scout was sitting on the wrap-around porch. He had known the instant he was out of the truck and across the yard. Atticus, even in his senior years, had made an effort to be the first to greet the Winchester boys.

Sam could recall the sinking feeling of foreboding as if it were only yesterday.

His stomach twisted, and the overwhelming sense of loss and pain shook him. The teen blinked feeling Harper lick his fingers which were hanging loosely, the toy having been dropped to the floor forgotten.

The sixteen-year-old shook his head slightly, feeling as if he had spaced out for a moment. He licked his lips, taking a deep breath to get his heart beating again. Unfortunately, the sick grief-like presence remained, even after his thought of Atticus Finch passed.

Something was wrong.

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Something was wrong.

That was the first thought to reach clarity in Dean Winchester's Swiss-cheesed mind as he struggled to get his uncooperative eyes to obey his command to open. He was certain he hadn't drunk more then a couple of beers and a shot or two of tequila the night before. Definitely not enough to give him the mother of all hangovers. Nor did it account for the aches and pains providing a full frontal assault on the majority of his body.

The sound of groaning reached his ears and it took just a moment to realize the noise was coming from him. "Damn," he muttered, slowly reaching his left hand up to his head. For some reason, his right one wasn't working. At least his skull was still attached and making its presence known loud and clear. Finally his eyes obliged him and he blinked, trying to bring his bleary surroundings in as best he could.

Darkness kept him from seeing much. It took a few moments to recognize the white spots he kept trying to blink away for what they were-snow flakes. "Fuck!" He swore as images of the moments just before the crash assaulted him. "Holy fuck," he ground out as he remembered the deer, the truck going airborne, and then the blinding impact as steel had met mother nature in a battle that obviously the tree won. Jim's truck was totaled.

Even with his limited view, Dean knew the Ford was nothing but scrap metal, because most of it had folded in around and on top of him. It was probably a testament to the craftsmanship that he was still breathing.

With that thought, he quickly tried to catalog the extent of his injuries. The lack of any significant pain didn't relieve him, as he was pretty sure his body was still in shock. One thing he knew for sure was that his left arm and legs were pinned. He was wedged in tight and it would take some work to get himself out. In an instant all concern for his own well fair disappeared.

Dean's heart quickened and he felt light-headed as he swung his gaze to his left. "Caleb," he managed to croak, through the growing restriction in his chest. Surely the other side of the truck had been spared.

Unfortunately, a quick look cleared up one little mystery. Jim's secret box sure the hell did not hold any kind of good luck charm. On the contrary, it could have very well been a cursed relic, if the accident was any testament.

The driver's side of the truck was just as damaged as the passenger's. The side window was shattered like the windshield; the steering wheel and the dashboard were folded inward, accordion style. In fact, everything on that side might have compacted quite nicely if not for the six-foot-two, one-hundred and eighty- five pounds of flesh and bone getting in its way. "Caleb!"

Caleb didn't move at the sound of his name, or stir at the subsequent string of curses that Dean let loose with. He didn't even flinch when the younger hunter called him a shitty-assed driver either, which would have easily earned Winchester a decent glare and a quick and dirty hand gesture had the other man been anywhere near consciousness.

"Come on, man. Don't do this," Dean heard himself say as if in some strange dream-like state. Commanding his hand to move was twice as difficult as getting his eyes to function. He was sure it had more to do with the act he was about to perform than with any injury.

His arm shook as he lifted it enough to reach Caleb. The other hunter was less than two feet away from him, slumped towards the damaged driver-side door. His head was angled towards the window, preventing Dean from seeing the psychic's face but giving him easy access to his neck, his pulse. If he still had one.

The twenty-year-old swallowed back the rush of fear and dread and let his cold fingers rest against Caleb's neck. His own heart nearly stopped when nothing registered, but then he took a quick, panicked breath, dropping his touch lower and pressing harder. He bit his lip, closing his eyes. Waiting. There it was.

Strong, but slow. "Thank God," he breathed, letting his hand fall away, his head resting back against the bench seat. "Wake up, Sleeping Ugly!" By sheer will, Dean raised his head before he had a chance to drift off again, turning his gaze slower this time to take in any visible injuries he could see on his friend. The more he concentrated on Caleb, the less he had to think about what exactly had happened to him and the pain he would soon be in. Besides, when Reaves woke up, he'd think of something to get them the hell out of there.

That was if he did wake up.

Dean grimaced as he took in the condition of the other man. For one, the way the steering wheel was crushed against the psychic's chest couldn't mean anything good, but it was the shiny wetness he could now see smeared on part of the truck's door frame that had him worried. Blood.

It had more than likely come from Reaves' head, which probably impacted with either the dash, the windshield, or the side window. Possibly a combination of the three, considering the impromptu roller coaster ride they had endured thanks to the walking venison.

The seeds of panic started to unfurl, curling up his spine like English Ivy. "Caleb!" Dean tried again, cursing the tremble of fear he could hear laced in each desperate syllable. He made his hand move again, giving the other man a meek shove. "Wake-up, damn it."

Lectures about not moving the victim before assessing what types of injuries they had sustained floated through his mind, but his selfish desire to hear his friend's voice, see him move, won out over medical protocol. "Caleb!"

Caleb Reaves' first awareness was one of pain. Pain and panic. Then fear. Somewhere in his scrambled mind, he realized not all of the emotions were his own and that prodded him to pay attention, not sure if he was dreaming or having some sort of vision he needed to explore. In fact, he wasn't sure of much except for the ridiculous pounding in his head. He was pretty sure the painful drum solo was all his.

"Caleb?" Dean wasn't sure if he imagined the movement or if the other hunter had actually jerked. "Can you hear me, man?"

The voice was familiar, but wrong. It sounded too young, and too frightened. "Yeah?" Reaves tried to move his head, but felt the whole world tilt on its axis.

"You with me?" The voice was back, followed by a touch on his shoulder.

"That depends on…where you are."

Dean choked on his relief, attempting levity. "Try your ancestral land, only a lot colder."

"That sounds about right," Reaves moaned, trying again to move his head towards his friend's voice without passing out. "What…the fuck…Deuce…" Surely they had not gotten that drunk the night before. The County Line Cantina had served shitty watered down booze. He was barely buzzed when they called it quits.

"You wrecked Jim's truck."

Caleb's eyes snapped opened, and he finished turning his head with a sharp motion that had him stifling a yelp of pain. "Goddamnit!"

"You okay?" Dean got his first good look at Caleb. Blood oozed from a nasty-looking jagged cut running from the edge of hair line, across his cheek and back to his ear, where an impressive display of mottled bruising was already seeping onto the entire side of his left face.

"No," Reaves bit out, forcing his right hand to his head as if it were the only thing holding it on his shoulders. He squinted through his fingers. "You?"

When Dean didn't answer right away Caleb tried to straighten himself, dropping his hand, giving the other hunter an appraising look. "Are you hurt?"

The twenty-year-old swallowed thickly, seeing the raw fear and concern flash in Caleb's eyes. That was a good question. "I…I'm okay."

"Okay?" Caleb frowned. He reached his hand out brushing it against the gash on Dean's forehead. "You're bleeding, Deuce."

Dean flinched with the contact, trying to smirk despite the throbbing in his face. "Not as much as you."

Reaves let his hand drop. "I always win… my competitive nature."

"Right."

"Tell me the truth, kid."

"I'm just…stuck."

"Stuck?" Caleb seemed to be straining to focus, both his eyes and his attention.

"Yeah."

Reaves blinked, looking around the cab of the truck as if seeing their situation for the first time. It wasn't a comforting sight. "Damn."

"Yeah. We're fucked."

"Can you move at all?" Caleb asked Dean.

"My right arm. That's about it."

The psychic seemed to hesitate. "Can you… feel everything?"

Dean took a deep breath, did what he was afraid to before. With a slight hysterical laugh he replied. "Yeah, my legs are starting to hurt like a bitch. My side, too."

"That's good," Caleb said, softly. He didn't like the idea of Dean in pain, but the alternative was worse. "Broken?"

Dean looked at him, not happy with the way his friend was reduced to one word questions or that the syllables were slurred. "Maybe my arm," Dean confessed. "How's your head?"

Reaves' mouth quirked. "Maybe broken."

Wonderful, a mentally impaired psychic. "Do you think _you_ can move?"

Caleb turned his head back to look at the steering wheel, which currently had him pinned against the seat. His arms seemed like dead weight as he lifted them and pushed against the dashboard. It might as well have been a brick wall. "Not happening," he replied after a struggling match that left him short of breath and covered in sweat, despite the cold, night air.

"That's not the answer I was hoping for."

Caleb looked at him again, although Dean wasn't sure if he actually was seeing him, considering the amount of blinking. "You sound worried, Deuce."

"Nah, we're just trapped in the middle of no where, and it's snowing on us and we have no heat, but hey…I'm good."

The psychic closed his eyes. "Could be… worse."

"Worse?"

"Truck could…be on fire."

"Open your eyes, Mr. Sunshine," Dean growled, giving the other hunter a shove.

"Damn, Dean," Caleb mumbled, but did as the kid commanded. "Head wound, here."

"Exactly." Winchester gave him a hard look. "And it's cold. Stay the fuck awake."

Reaves nodded, licked his chapped lips. He seemed to gain some momentary clarity. "We need to… get out of here."

"How exactly do you plan on us doing that?"

"Me?"

"You're the oldest." Dean had that declaration thrown at him enough in the last fourteen years. It was nice to get to toss it back for a change, even if it was a low blow. "The _senior_ hunter. And you're an engineer. Can't you figure out a way to lever or shift something, MacGyver."

"Never did well… in all that mechanical stuff…" That's why he hired the best mechanical engineers to bring his ideas to fruition. "… why I majored in architecture." Caleb sighed. "I could…draw you a picture though…"

"Damn it, Dude, this is serious." It was obvious Caleb wasn't thinking straight. In fact it seemed he had yet to truly grasp the severity of their situation.

"Yeah." Reaves raised his head from the back of the seat, let his gaze go to Dean's face. He had to get it together for both their sakes. If only the damn truck would stop spinning. "Are we moving, Deuce?"

Dean blew out a long breath. In the darkened cab, with the white snow around them and the moon peeking about between the clouds providing an incandescent-like glow, Dean could tell Caleb's pupils were dilated unevenly. He hoped to hell it wasn't anything more serious than a concussion. "No. It's all in your head."

"My head." Caleb frowned. "That…can't be good."

Winchester snorted. "No. It's not."

"We should…do something." Caleb shivered as another gust of wind ripped through the truck's interior.

Dean felt the stab of cold through his layers of clothes and gritted his teeth. They were damn lucky it wasn't as cold as the wind chill would leave one to believe. In fact, the hot weather lady from WCYB had said it was going to be too warm for snow. So much for that. "I'm all ears, Captain Obvious."

"Smart ass," Reaves muttered, and Dean felt his hope blossom slightly. It sounded more like the older hunter than anything else had. He watched as Reaves rubbed at his forehead, smearing the blood across his fingers. "Where…the hell's my phone?"

Dean followed the other's gaze to the dashboard where Reaves had tossed his cell after speaking to John a few hours earlier. It was no where in sight, and the younger hunter had the sinking suspicion that it, like everything else not strapped in, had landed either in the floorboard or on the outside of the vehicle. Still, it was a good thought. "Not too shabby for a concussed bastard."

Winchester started to squirm against his confines, hoping to afford himself a better look into the floor area just in case they caught a break, but a knifing pain in his side brought him up cold. He couldn't help but to cry out as a fire-like sensation stole his breath.

He blacked out, unsure of how long, but the frantic sound of his name had him jolting back to consciousness with a vicious clarity of just how much pain he was now in. "Sammy?"

"Deuce," Caleb had managed to squirm himself closer. He roughly patted his friend's face. Nothing like fear to clear the mental cobwebs. "Come on, kid. If I don't get to sleep…neither do you."

Dean blinked, focused on the concerned face staring at him. "Kill joy."

"What happened?" Reaves didn't give him a chance to reply before his hands were ghosting over his head, checking for a more serious wound than the one he could see.

"Dude…" Dean shoved weakly at the psychic with his free arm. "Back off."

"Then tell me the truth."

"Would I lie…"

"No, but you would leave things out."

Before Dean could reply his cell phone went off, its muffled rings coming from somewhere to his right. It must have fallen from his pocket in the crash. He and Caleb shared a look. "It's coming from in the truck," Dean said, weakly. "Somewhere on this side."

Reaves nodded, wincing as he leaned across his friend, feeling for the phone as it continued to ring. "Watch it," Dean snapped, as the psychic tried to reach between the dashboard and the younger man's side.

"Don't worry, cupcake…I'll buy you a fancy dinner later."

The phone stopped ringing and Caleb cursed, his body stretched as far across the seat as possible. He fumbled for the cell a moment longer; finally realizing the one thing that could save them was beyond their reach.

He eased himself back up, his hand brushing against Dean's side as he did. His fingers met something warm and wet and he paused, his fuzzy brain still taking longer than usual to process simple information.

"Keep it up and you're going to owe… me a fucking diamond," Winchester hissed in annoyance.

Reaves wasn't dissuaded. "Don't…flatter yourself, kid."

"Ow!"

"What the hell is this?" The psychic held up his hand, and even though Dean couldn't really see all the blood he could smell it.

"Cut yourself?"

"Goddamnit, Dean!" Caleb shook his head before he thought better of it, growling in frustration at his own helplessness and Dean's stupidity. "This is just like that time with the lycanthrope."

"Not really," Dean hedged, a hint of fear lacing his voice again. "We weren't stuck in the middle of nowhere and it wasn't snowing."

"You have a death wish?" Caleb sighed, wiping his hand on his jeans. The bad situation had just gotten a whole hell of a lot worse. Not only were they trapped, without a phone, but now Dean was trying to bleed to death on him. That wasn't acceptable. _Idiot. _"How bad?" Reaves looked at him. "And don't lie…to me."

The younger hunter took a shaky breath, tried to reassess himself. He had known his side was hurting, but he really hadn't realized what had happened until he tried to move. He wasn't just pinned to the seat; he was _pinned _to the seat. Some part of the truck, a piece of metal more than likely, had turned him to a giant insect-like specimen. "Bad," he finally answered, not meeting Reaves glassy gaze.

"Fuck!" Caleb pounded on the steering wheel, then let his aching head rest in his hands. "Forget Tom. We are so having Bambi and his family for Thanksgiving," he swore.

"It's okay, man." Dean tried, only to have Reaves slowly lift his head and glare at him.

"**You** don't get to decide when it's okay…ever. Remember?"

Winchester sighed. "You're not going to let that go. Are you?"

"I hold onto things. It's…part of my charm." Reaves squeezed his eyes shut, and remembered the incident of two years ago. "The only reason I didn't kill you myself then was because you got your ring and it's against the rules to kill a fellow brother. . ." That wasn't exactly true considering Caleb had killed Duran only a few months before.

"Only reason? Didn't have anything to do with me saving your life?" The older Winchester brother snorted.

"And I'm the one with the concussion?" Reaves retorted.

"You tell me what you remember and then I'll tell you you're wrong." Caleb could hear Dean's shallow breathing, and he couldn't helped but be sucked back into the past by the hauntingly familiar sound and situation.

Two years earlier. . .

_Caleb grunted, as Dean tackled him. "What the hell, Deuce?" He yelled out as a pitchfork thudded into the wall of the wood barn. "Ahh, yeah."_

_Dean shot his rifle, forcing the lycanthrope to take a step back. It growled in retaliation, then turned, beckoned by the moonlight creeping through the open barn door._

_"Go!" Dean gestured with his hand._

_Caleb pushed himself to his feet, held out a hand to the younger hunter. "You okay?" _

_The eighteen-year-old waved him off. "Yeah, go after it! I'll make sure the kids get out." _

_Reaves nodded and ran out the door, not giving Winchester a second look._

_Dean remained against the wall. He touched his shoulder, and blood coated his hand. He felt the object, whatever it was, pierce his shoulder. The immediate adrenaline rush had deadened the pain, enough for him to let Caleb leave to finish the job. The lycanthrope had to be destroyed. It had already done enough damage. _

_Without giving himself time to hesitate, Dean heaved himself off the wall. It always worked with Band-aides. He let his forehead drop to the hay riddled ground. Pain emanated from his shoulder. He wanted to cry out, but instead coughed. He pulled himself up, and righted himself to a standing position, before he gave into the sudden desire to pass out._

_The hunters had tracked the lycanthrope to the nearby woods. There they found David and Ryan, twelve-years-old and attempting to smoke a few cigarettes. The two boys had gotten more than they bargained for. Dean told them a rabid bear was in the area. He ushered them into the barn, and told them to stay quiet in the root cellar. _

_He stamped on the cellar door. "Okay, Ryan, David, it's clear." Dean called out, helping to lift the door, but having the boys take most of the weight by pushing it up._

_Ryan's eyes were wide, and looked around the barn. "Wha. . .what's going on? We heard ..."_

_Dean cut him off. He did not want to offer any explanations of a lycanthrope, or a rabid bear. "My friend went to take care of it. You two need to get on your bikes and get back home."_

_David looked at his watch and the darkness of the night as they walked outside. "We're going to be in trouble."_

_"That's why smoking is bad for your health…leads to all sorts of trouble." Dean added as they walked to the rear of the barn where the pre-teens had left their bikes._

_Ryan picked his BMX bike off the ground where the boys had haphazardly deposited them. "My parents are never going to believe this." _

_The cricket filled night air suddenly was punctuated by one gun shot and then another. Caleb had gotten to the lycanthrope. "Can't help you with that kid, although a rabid bear does sound lame," Dean stated, knowing the excuse really didn't stand up to any scrutiny. "You may want to go with abducted by aliens." _

_"Does that work?" David asked._

_Dean shook his head with a smirk. The motion caused the world to sway around him. He reached for David's handlebars to hold him up. _

_"You okay, mister?"_

_Winchester swallowed, and tried to right the world again. "Yeah, get going." The boys peddled fast, and headed for the groomed path. Ryan waved, never turning around. _

_Slowly, Dean walked over to Caleb's Jeep. He eased himself into the passenger seat and waited, placing a hand over his injured shoulder, feeling the throbbing of his heartbeat. _

_"And that's why this is a job for men not children," Reaves announced as he came into the clearing. He pulled out the lock box in the rear of the jeep, storing his weapons away to be cleaned later. "You missed it Deuce. Had to chase it down, shot it once and then shot it again. That was nasty, but not a problem." Caleb stepped into the driver's seat, hyped up on adrenaline and a successful hunt. _

_"Not for Damien, super hunter extraordinaire." The teen replied with a quick roll of his eyes, although his usual smirk was missing. _

_"Exactly. What can I say? I'm good at my job." The older hunter's pride shined through. He started the Jeep. "And my reward is going to be the beer you buy me and that girl. She said she had a piercing to show me." Reaves thought of the bar in the nearby town they had passed through. He broke his reverie and glanced around. "Did you make sure the kids got out?" _

_Winchester nodded. "Yep, they're fine."_

_Caleb heard the monotone reply, and could tell something was wrong with the teen. Many times, he too had that tone of frustration when he thought his work wasn't valued by John. "You're just jealous-"_

_Dean snorted, cutting the hunter's comment short. "Yeah, right, let's just get going."_

_Reaves was undeterred. He wanted to share what he had learned, hoping to help Dean. "You got to understand-sometimes you're the sidekick and sometimes the hero. It's very simple." Caleb nodded at his own advice, finding it so profound, that perhaps he should write it down._

_"And you're the hero?" Dean retorted. "Do you stay up at night making up this shit?"_

_"Just some pearls of wisdom you can benefit from-I'm a giver." Caleb reached over and patted Dean on the chest. He didn't miss the teen's sharp intake of breath or the wetness on his hand. "What the hell?" Caleb looked at his hand, smelling the coppery blood scent. "Damnit Dean! I asked you if you were okay. What the hell!" The psychic pulled over._

_"You had to get the hairy dude and the kids needed to get out safe." Dean moved the jacket away, his hand trembling, so that his friend could see the wound._

_The kid's face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his breathing shallow and ragged. "Shit. This is not good." _

_"Caleb, don't tell Pastor Jim or Sam. Just stitch me up and keep quiet. We're not supposed to meet up with Dad for a few days. . ." Winchester rambled._

_"You so don't **ever** get to decide if you're okay again." Reaves looked at the wound, seeing where an object had pierced through the teen's shoulder, leaving a trail of blood and damage. This wasn't something he could sew up with fishing wire, and slap a bandage on. "No, Dean, we need to go to a hospital." _

_Dean grabbed the other hunter's arm, as the psychic turned to put the vehicle in drive again. "Caleb, I don't want them to worry over nothing." Which was Dean speak for he didn't want Sam to worry, and he didn't want anyone fussing over him. Typical. The kid had a pleading look on his face. One Reaves had only witnessed a few times before. It was worse than the Sammy face, and possibly more potent because it was much more rare. _

_"Okay, Deuce," Caleb replied, placating his friend. "I'll keep it quiet, but we have to see a doctor."_

_He kept the teen talking about nonsense and bravado the whole trip to the hospital. Dean was whisked away from him in the emergency room, bleeding injury taking precedence over the other waiting patients. Caleb looked at the blood on his hand. He couldn't keep this promise, later he would convince Dean he was delirious and that no promises had been made._

_He called Pastor Jim, explained to him what had happened on the hunt…that Dean had saved his hide but gotten hurt in the process._

_Reaves was surprised when the minister arrived alone, and he wondered if the Pastor had locked Sammy up in the cellar to manage the feat. Dean had been placed in a room, twenty-four hours of monitoring being needed after the surgery. Murphy had asked for a moment alone with the teen._

_Caleb wouldn't call it eavesdropping; after all he was a psychic. He could just as easily read their thoughts. He didn't want to tax his abilities. He stayed, leaning against the door, knowing Dean was getting his ring. _

_When the Pastor exited he patted Caleb's shoulder, but faltered when he heard Reaves's question. "He's the next Guardian isn't he?"_

_"I didn't say that." Jim twisted his own ring._

_"You don't have to." Caleb grinned, closed his eyes and shook his head. He had put it all together. Maybe on a level, he'd know all along. "He has the heart for it." _

_Murphy smiled then, his blue eyes twinkling. "That he does, my boy. That he does."_

"Hey, hey, don't you zone out on me again." Dean said loudly, then his words trailed off when he got a grunted response from Caleb.

"Just taking a little trip down memory lane." Reaves blinked a few times to try to clear his pounding head, unsuccessfully.

"Well stay with me. I'm freaked out enough without your mental bird walking."

Caleb looked at him. "We're getting out of here, Deuce."

Dean snorted. "Because you say so?"

"Right, because I say so, that's the rule." The act of confidence was costing the older hunter as the world once more tilted around him.

"Isn't in the hunter's manual."

"Sure, in the back in small print, added it after you got your ring. You must not have gotten the update. It says, 'Caleb decides when it's okay.'"

Dean held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. God, he wanted to believe him. "Okay."

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"No, Dad! It's not okay!" Sam barked into the phone, pacing the wooden floor of the library.

"They should have been back by now." _He_ should have known better than to call his father.

_"Sam, they probably stopped at some bar on the way back. . ."_

The sixteen-year-old clenched his fists. "Okay, Dad, well, don't worry, at all, I'm sure they aren't in some ditch on the side of the road freezing to death or anything. . ."

"_I meant what I said, Samuel. You stay at Jim's and you wait on your brother and Caleb or Jim to come back. Don't you dare leave that farm alone…" _

"Whatever, Dad."

_"Sammy…"_

"It's Sam!" The kid growled, hanging up the phone. He was tired of beating his head against the brick wall with the graffiti tag 'John Winchester Knows EVERYTHING' written all over it.

Sam had tried Jim first only to discover the pastor was out of cell phone coverage, so that had left his father as a last resort. Before caving, he'd called Dean's cell again…getting no answer. Even Caleb's phone went to voice mail. Dean could have been pissed at him, but Reaves would have picked up, if only under the rouse of rubbing it in.

"They're in trouble." He looked at Scout. "Stupid idiots."

The Lab whined, shifting on the pillow she'd stolen from Harper. "Jim told them to be back tonight. They wouldn't not listen to him." No matter what anyone could say about Caleb and Dean, they were loyalists to Pastor Jim. The Brotherhood wasn't something they screwed around with. Hunting was serious business, especially if the pastor was giving the orders.

"And if they are screwing around," Sam grumbled as he dug through one of the big roll-top desks to find the maps he would need, "they won't have to worry about Thanksgiving dinner. I'm going to kill them."

A phantom pain tore through his gut as the false threat left his lips and the words registered. They could already be dead.

Sam shook his head, blinking away the sudden blur of tears mucking up his vision. "They're fine. Dad's probably right." He glanced at Harper who was fussing with Atticus' toy again. The kid swallowed thickly as he thought of the Golden Retriever.

He'd known Atticus his whole life. He was the first loss that Sam had really suffered of someone close to him...someone he'd known and loved. Someone besides his mother, who was more like a fairytale than a real person. "Or maybe the weather is keeping them."

Sam refused to let himself think any differently as he unfolded the maps of New Haven and spread them out on the desk. No matter what a pain in the ass his brother could be, he couldn't imagine his world without him. Or Caleb. Sam may have complained about being the baby, about how they treated him like a child. But in all honesty, he wouldn't know exactly who he 'would' be if they weren't there to play off of.

They had been there for Sam more times than he cared to think about. He couldn't remember a time when his brother hadn't been there for him, when Caleb wasn't always just a phone call away. Belac and Athewm were always saving him...protecting him. But now it was Sam's turn to repay the favor. The teen looked at Scout, a determined gleam lighting his moss green eyes. "You up for a search and rescue mission, girl?"

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a/n: Dear readers, I'm so sorry this was late in being posted. Although, I'm hoping the length will make up for that some. Times are busy as I'm sure you all know, and I have lost my beloved computer. Sigh. Hopefully it will be revived soon, but until then, I have limited access. Williamson was kind enough to post this part for me today, so please give her a big shout out for the help. Also, Tidia was gracious enough to beta this from her sunny vacation spot in Florida. And also, she added the flashback with Dean's ring. She made this a better piece by doing so, although Will said…you're doing a flashback within a dream sequence…is that possible? Well, I'm not sure if it's effective, but it is obviously possible. You guys will have to let us know if it was worthwhile. And last but not least, thank you all for your kind reviews, which I unabashedly devour and give no response to. I take them to heart and they lift my spirits more than I can say. But, with limited computer access now, I have even less time to respond. Hopefully the Geek Squad will pull a miracle out of their sleeves, and I'll be back on line soon. PS. For those of you who have asked for the Brotherhood series listed in chronological order, Will is working on a webpage for this series among other things. Hopefully that will be up soon. Currently we are on the hunt(bg) for the perfect Caleb-picture wise. It is quite the fun quest let me tell you. Although, getting caught tearing pictures out of the magazines in the library will not do much for my reputation I'm afraid.

Chapter four…coming soon.


	4. Chapter 4

The forest was quiet, the way it is after snow has settled on the tree limbs, muffling nature's voice. Reaves came to with a start, the sudden absence of any sound, deafening and frightening.

He lifted his head, furious with himself that he had spaced out, or worse, fallen asleep. "Shit," he groaned as his sluggish body fought even the slightest of movement. "Wake up, Dean!" Caleb reached out and shook the younger man, panic providing him with enough adrenaline to manage. "Open your eyes, damn it." It was still dark and cold, but the slight glow from his watch reassured him he hadn't been out too long. "Dean!"

The younger man did as he was told, but it wasn't easy and the psychic caught the backwash of the pain it caused. Caleb swallowed back the bitter taste of failure. "Hey, man, you still with me?"

"I'm awake," Dean muttered. He was so fucking cold, and sleep was teasing him with a warm oasis, but another loud command from Reaves told him that wasn't an option.

"Sure you are," the psychic sighed. "Open your eyes and I might believe you."

Dean had thought his eyes were open. He concentrated harder and managed to blink, finding Reaves staring at him when he did finally find the focus. "That's scary," he breathed.

"What?" Caleb frowned, stepping right into the insult.

Dean rolled his eyes at his friends untypical response. "You, Dude." He shook his head slightly. "That concussion makes it too easy. It's like playing with Sammy." The lines of pain around the psychic's eyes were hard to miss. He was hurting, just like Dean.

"Yeah, well blood loss hasn't improved your disposition either." Caleb looked him over. "How you doing?"

Dean was too tired to point out how stupid that question was. "I'm cold."

"I know." Reaves struggled to reach the tattered army blanket that had slipped off the kid, pulling it out of the floor, tucking it around his friend as best he could. They were lucky Jim kept one in the old truck, and Caleb had ordered Dean to take it. "Try not to think about it."

"Oh, that'll work."

Caleb let his hand slide up to Dean's neck, checking his pulse, which earned him a frown from the younger man. "Seriously, Dude, think about Mercury." Hottest planet in the solar system. Reaves still remembered Sam telling him that during another time when they had found themselves in a life-threatening situation.

"Mercury?"

Caleb sighed. Apparently Dean didn't remember. Of course he was the one in danger of dying then. Just like now. "Humor me, okay."

Dean closed his eyes again. "Then talk to me."

A sudden image of a mute six-year-old Dean came to Caleb and he felt dizzy. "That's never been my strong suit, Deuce." Something else they had in common.

The twenty-year-old lifted one eyelid to look at him, and it seemed to zap him of energy. "I don't see a pool table or any cards. You want me to stay awake…talk." Dean knew they were both on shaky ground, neither of them could afford to go to sleep.

The psychic rubbed at his head, pain blossoming again from within his skull. Another shard of light pierced his vision and he bit his lip. Apparently the concussion had decided to play around with his abilities. "About what?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know…bridges."

Reaves forced a short laugh. "I thought you didn't like bridges, Deuce."

"I don't. But it's one of your things…right?"

Caleb frowned, continuing to rub at his forehead. At least, he didn't' seem to be bleeding anymore. If only he could say the same about Dean. "One of my things?"

"Yeah, you have bridges, Sam has books. Sammy can talk for hours about books and theories."

Dean was staring wide-eyed at him now. He almost preferred the alternative, because as closed off as the kid could be sometimes, everything he was feeling could be found right there in the bright green and amber pools. Reaves licked his lips, pushed past both their pain. "There is this bridge… in Venice I bet you'd like."

"Why's that? Is it held up by statues of naked ladies?"

"For one, it's not very high." Caleb grinned. "And it's haunted."

Dean arched a brow. "Haunted by what?"

"The tormented souls of long-dead prisoners would be my first guess."

Dean frowned and Caleb continued. "It's called the Bridge of Sighs, or Ponte dei Sospiri. It's near Doges Palace, built between a prison and old interrogation chambers. It's an enclosed bridge… has these windows with stone bars. They said it offered the last glimpse of the city to thousands of doomed men."

"Sounds charming."

"It is."

Dean rolled his eyes. Caleb could be as much of a geek as Sammy. "What else? What bridge does it for you, freak?"

"Well, one of the coolest bridges is the Tower Bridge in London." Cullen Ames, his grandfather, had given him a six week trip to Europe after he graduated high school. At first he had been pissed when Mac had made him go, but now the experiences there were fond memories. He'd even made some hunting contacts there.

"Like the one you built a scale of when you were at Auburn?"

Caleb frowned, surprised his friend remembered. Dean had been only ten when Reaves went to college in Alabama. "Yeah."

"You like the one in San Francisco?"

"The Golden Gate?"

Dean nodded, and Reaves continued. "Most architects will tell you it's the most beautiful bridge ever built. But I like steel arcs. There's this one in West Virginia. New River Gorge. She's amazing."

Dean laughed lightly, and Caleb looked affronted. "Longest in the country, man. Would be the longest in the world if not for the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway."

"Sorry…" The twenty-year-old grinned. "Didn't mean to insult _her_."

"This from the guy who wanted to send his car's picture in to Playboy."

"Hottest body I've seen."

Caleb rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the blurring of realties it brought. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "As I was saying, the largest steel arch is Sydney Harbor and I plan on seeing _her_ one day."

Dean blinked, fighting off another tug from the silent siren unconsciousness. "What's the highest?"

"Millau Viaduct in France."

"Good, I'm not planning on leaving the country anytime soon."

"The New Gorge is pretty damn high, too. We'll go there sometime."

Dean's smile faded. He was pretty sure they might not be going anywhere ever again.

He saw Reaves wince, pain race across his face. "Don't go there, Deuce. We're making it out of this fucking mess."

The younger hunter didn't even bother to reprimand him for snooping. Damn it was so cold. "So…what got you jonesing for bridges, Dude?"

Caleb wished like hell there was something he could do. Dean was sounding worse by the minute. He cleared his throat as the kid continued to look at him. "I read this poem by Whitman once…"

"To get in a girl's pants, right?"

Reaves sighed. "Not everything is about women, Deuce."

"Since when?" The kid did his best to feign a horrified look. "I'm seeing a whole new side of you, Damien, and I gotta say…I don't like it."

"Do you want to hear this or not?"

"Go on, Shakespeare."

"Anyway, Whitman said something like..'The Earth be spanned, lands be welded together." Caleb swallowed thickly. "I took it to mean that bridges were the way separated things could be reconnected-made whole again. They were a power that man could exert over his environment. Kind of like giving Mother Nature the finger."

Dean frowned, easily picking up on the irony in what his friend was saying. Reaves was always trying to piece together the two worlds he supposedly came from. Then there was the whole psychic realm versus the physical world. And the hunting world versus the life most mortals accepted. Winchester could understand. Caleb was constantly torn between realities. "Is that why you did the whole Frank Llyod Wright thing?"

Caleb looked at him for a long moment. "I'll bridge these hills with graceful arches."

"Huh?" It was Dean's turn to look confused. "You okay?"

Reaves frowned. "It's a quote by Wright. When you mentioned him…hell, Deuce, you're a fucking puzzle sometimes."

"I know who Wright is. I read a book about architecture at school once." Actually, he'd driven the nice librarian crazy until she'd found him information on the subject. After all, fifth graders weren't usually looking for such things. But not all fifth graders were about to lose someone to a strange place called Auburn University either. Dean cleared his throat. "So…you telling me a bunch of fancy words turned you onto bridging hills."

"No." Reaves looked past him, through the shattered window into the darkness. "My dad liked to build things. He worked on houses, boats and stuff I think. But I remember he use to buy me models of all kinds of things…planes, sky scrapers…"

"Bridges," Dean guessed, and the psychic nodded. As a kid Caleb had tons of them.

"Yeah. That poem by Whitman…it always reminded me of him." Reaves cleared his throat and his voice lowered. "And my mom, she was always drawing things, painting. I guess I picked up some things from her."

"So a poem, some model cars, and a box of crayons did it for you?"

Caleb grinned. "That and I realized that chicks really dig artists."

Dean laughed, but winced as his body shook. Reaves looked away. "What about you, kid? He hoped that whole choking on emotion thing didn't sound like it did in his over-sensitized head. "What's your thing?"

The twenty-year-old took a ragged breath. "My thing?"

Caleb faced him again, forcing his game face back in place. "Yeah, you seem to think you have me and Sammy pegged. What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I am grown up, man."

Reaves shot him that 'yeah right' cocky grin of his. "What about school then? You ever want to go?"

"That's Sammy's thing."

"NYU wasn't Sammy."

Surprise registered on Dean's sweat-covered face. "How…"

"Sam told me about the scouts."

Winchester sighed. "Sammy has a big mouth and that was a long time ago."

"You could have asked Johnny. If it was the money, man, me or Mac could have…"

"Right." Dean cut him off. "But baseball doesn't exactly go along with the lifestyle, man. And in case you haven't noticed, I like hunting."

"You could have taken a time out."

Dean bit his bottom lip, remembering the feel of a glove on his hand, the heat of the sun on his back as he watched the batter's cage. "From the job…maybe."

But not from Sam. "Right." Reaves rubbed at his head again. Life loved to fuck with Dean. There was nothing he could do to fix the past. He couldn't even help in the present.

"But you were good, Deuce." Had he ever told him that? Caleb had made it a point to catch at least one or two games a season when Dean was in school. The kid was looking at him again, and he had to do something to erase some of the misery. "And it's too damn bad because chicks really dig athletes, too. You might have stood a chance against my charm, artistic brooding aura, and unnatural good looks if you were bringing in six figures with the Sox."

Dean raised a brow then, a hint of his familiar smirk returning. "I thought not everything was about women?"

"Who the hell you been talking too? Sammy? 'cause he hasn't got a clue."

Dean held his gaze, his grin melting away like the snow falling on the dashboard. "He's smarter than you think, Caleb." The twenty-year-old sighed. "Too smart for his own good."

_Or for mine._ One day very soon, Sam Winchester's bright ideas were going to ruin his brother's life. That was if he still had a life after this night.

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It might not have been the brightest idea Sam Winchester had ever had but desperate times called for desperate improvising. "At least the snow has slacked off," he said, looking at his panting partner.

Scout was buckled safely in the passenger's seat of Caleb's Jeep, her breath fogging on the window as she watched the crystallized trees passing by. "The roads are pretty slick." The kid downshifted into second, feeling the back wheels slide ever so slightly. He held his breath and eased off the gas pedal. Reaves was probably going to kick his ass for hotwiring his car, but it was the only vehicle at the farm. Not counting Jim's tractor or one of the horses. Neither was an option, so Sam had done what he had to. He only hoped the psychic would be too grateful to pound him.

"It's not like I couldn't take him," Sam told Scout and she looked his way, tilting her head slightly. "What? I could. I'm nearly as tall as him now. And I'm younger."

Sam knew he wasn't fooling anybody, especially himself. Reaves was deadly, and the only person he'd seen best him in hand to hand was John Winchester a few years before. Although, Dean could hold his own against the other hunter. Sam was no slouch himself, having learned from all three of the older men, but he knew his greatest strength didn't lie in the physical arena.

Mac was always telling him his mind was a gift, better than any combat skill any leather neck marine could be taught during his first week of basic training.

Sam couldn't help but to grin to himself as he remembered his father's reaction to the statement Mac had let slip loud enough for the big, bad hunters to overhear as they sparred in the barn one evening. "Mac says I have to learn to trust my instincts, Scout." The teen looked back out at the snowy road, flipping on the fog lights as the darkness seemed to grow in intensity as the snow fall lightened further. "Maybe we'll blame him if this doesn't work out." Or on second thought, maybe Sam would just let the blame fall where it should…right into his father's lap.

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"Goddamnit!" John Winchester cursed as hot coffee splashed in his lap, seeping through his jeans and scalding the skin beneath. "I knew I shouldn't have let you drive, Bobby."

"You think you can do it better, John. I'll pull over." The demon hunter tugged on the Impala's steering wheel, sending them into a slight fishtail across the deserted highway. He grinned over at Winchester and was pleased to see a slight look of fear reflected back. " Because I ain't putting up with no side-seat navigations. I don't need a co-pilot. You've been hanging around with Mackland too long."

"Just keep your fucking eyes on the road," John muttered, forcing himself to relax. He'd be damned if he let Singer freak him out. The mechanic could handle a car like Ames could a scalpel. "And slow the hell down. It's snowing if you haven't noticed."

"Is that what's got your shorts in a wad? The weather?" Bobby shook his head. "And here I thought it was that demonic bitch tossing you around like a rag doll." Singer flashed another grin over at the other man. "Never took you as the type to be scared of a little ice and snow."

Winchester growled, trying for another drink of the coffee he'd picked up at the last filling station. "I'm not worried about the weather, Bobby. And that bitch wasn't laughing after I sent her back to the bowels of hell, now was she?"

Singer grunted. "Busted you up pretty good before she went though, huh?"

"Just drive." John turned fiery eyes to the mechanic. "I want to get back to Jim's if you don't mind."

"You never did tell me what you were yelling about when Sam called you. Boys still fighting over the fate of that damn bird. My money is on us having a fucking boloney sandwich for dinner, because I don't think Caleb or Dean will have the heart to do it, they just like pissing off Slim."

John looked out the window, hoping to hell that was the biggest thing they had to worry about when they got home. "Caleb and Dean weren't there. Sam was just being Sam."

Bobby shot the other hunter a quick glance. "Meaning he's not falling into line behind his brother and your protégé'."

Winchester frowned. "Now who's been hanging around Mackland too long?"

Bobby lifted his hands from the wheel in mock surrender, which earned him another heated glare. "Hey, even a blind chicken gets a few pieces of feed every now and then."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that Mackland's mind-shrinking occasionally has a way of hitting the nail on the head."

John raised a brow. "Like when he says you prefer the company of dogs and cars because you're emotionally impotent?"

"No." Singer forced a grin, despite the sting. "Like when he says that your first instinct is to piss everybody off, especially if you know you're in the wrong and you don't want to hear what they're saying."

"I hear what Sam is saying, Bobby. Although it isn't any of yours or Mackland's damn business."

"Now that ain't exactly true, considering I spent quite a few nights cleaning up my share of vomit and wiping snotty noses, and Mac, the bastard that he is, loves those boys like his own."

Winchester sighed, rubbed a hand over his beard. "I'm his father," he ground out. How many times did he have tell one of his friends that.

"Who you trying to convince?" Singer raised a brow. "Because I'm sold, man. I ain't ever met anyone as stubborn and pigheaded as Slim, except for you. If he ain't yours then God has one hell of a sense of humor."

John gave him an incredulous look and Bobby laughed. "What? You think Dean's more like you? Caleb, maybe? Hell, those two would cut off their right pinky fingers to please your hard ass, but that's a whole different story. I don't have to be a damned shrink to know the difference."

"Sam doesn't listen worth a goddamn." John pointed out as if he didn't realize he was helping his friend build his case.

"Good point." Bobby nodded. "In my favor."

"But he doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut and just let it go."

"Exactly."

Winchester growled again, unable to keep the frustration from reddening his face. "He doesn't realize I'm trying to help him."

"Said the kettle to the pot." John didn't understand just how many people wanted to do the same thing for him.

"Goddamn you, Bobby."

"Already happened a hell of a long time before you and your rug rats showed up at my door." When John sighed, Singer shot him a somewhat sympathetic look. "The boy's growing up, John. Ain't nothing you can do to stop that. Besides the alternative is a whole hell of a lot worse."

John swallowed thickly, thinking of what Sam had said. Dean and Caleb should have been back. They were nothing if not predictable. "Yeah." The hunter rubbed a hand over his face. "I just don't want to lose him. Any of them."

Bobby looked back out to the snow. "That ain't going to happen. I have a feeling God's having too much fun watching you screw up at the whole parenting thing. I know I'm sure as hell enjoying it."

John laughed, tiredly. "And here Mac thought you were had the emotional range of a fence post, Bobby."

Singer grunted. "Impotent, my ass. I'm the Hugh Heffner of feelings."

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a/n: Thanks so much to Tidia for the Beta, and listening to me ramble about plot stuff and character stuff, and all that other stuff. You're awesome. And to all those amazing reviewers who took the time to write me. I'm not ignoring any questions, I'm still lacking computer support. Bg. I should get it back sometime this week, hopefully. I also appreciate those who emailed me suggestions for Caleb's likeness. I forget who it was but you know who you are…I thought Brandon Lee, too, but seeing as how he is no longer with us, I passed on that one. I do have three pictures of the actor I chose now and I gotta say, I'm very pleased. I even found one of this person and Jensen together, which was too funny. I hadn't even realized they had ever worked together. Hopefully, those will be up on Will's website soon, as well as some other cool stuff Tidia has been working on. I'm posting them on the SN Fanfiction list, but as you now fan fiction net won't allow such stuff. Sigh. Again, thanks so much to those of you who continue to write, like I know I've said a billion times before, it keeps **_me_** writing, and inspired. Thank you guys. -Ridley


	5. Chapter 5

a/n: Sorry this is late you all, but computer issues are still with me, and if I explained the Herculean effort it took to get the conclusion to you on this day, I would rival Santa's feat. It is extremely long, however, and I hope not too boring. Tidia deserves a big thank you, although, I promised I would put this disclaimer in: Tidia, the lovely Beta that she is, did NOT have a chance to beta the last few sections of this. So all mistakes after a certain point are mine. I don't like to post without her perusal and stamp of approval, but it wouldn't have been to you before Christmas, nor could we start the Christmas stories before Christmas…so, please be kind. And please let me know what you think. I was very insecure about this little story. I'm not sure why, maybe it is the Holidays messing with my Mojo. Speaking of which…Merry Christmas and may whatever day you are celebrating bring you joy. It is a time of miracles…this post is proof of that. Bg. I should also offer a tribute to Cafe Mojo, where I spent hours working on this and drinking coffee...and more coffee, while using their free wi-fi.

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_**To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle, **_

_**Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,**_

_**Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same, **_

_**Every foot of the interior swarms with the same. **_

_**To me the sea is a continual miracle, **_

_**The fishes that swim-the rocks-the motion of the waves-**_

_**The ships with men in them. **_

_**What stranger miracles are there? **_

_**-Walt Whitman**_

"Sammy wants to go to college," Dean kept his eyes closed, knowing Caleb was watching him. He was struggling to stay awake and honestly the idea of drifting off was so damn tempting…

"Really," Reaves replied casually, although the punch of anxiety that came with that simple statement sent a knife-like sensation through his head. He wasn't sure if it was entirely sure if it was all Dean's feelings or also a mixture of his. "He's still got a year of high school left."

Winchester turned his head, but didn't lift it from the back of the seat. He was shivering hard now, but he was pretty much numb so the pain wasn't as bad. "What's a year, man?"

Three-hundred and sixty-five chances to change his mind. "He may decide to wait."

"Only prolonging the inevitable."

"Damn, morbid much?" Reaves pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing like hell the bright flashes of light would stop. "Sammy ain't going anywhere."

"You haven't heard him…talk about it."

Actually Caleb had. Sam had asked him about his time at Auburn. The kid couldn't keep the awe out of his voice as he inquired about classes, ball games and campus life. "It's normal to be curious. His friends are probably in to it…all of them talking about it."

"My friends were into a lot of shit, you didn't seem to think it was normal to be curious then."

Caleb rolled his eyes. "Curious is fine. Stupid is not." Reaves had not handled the situation with the drugs very well. Still, he probably did a lot better than John would have. At least he hadn't killed anyone.

"You gave me my first joint."

Reaves wondered when that would come back to haunt him. "Yeah, well, that was a rite of passage. I also told you experimentation had a line that you didn't step across unless you wanted me to kick your ass. Anything not brewed, fermented or grown on the far edge of Jim's garden was off limits."

"I don't remember you telling me anything…but I kind of got the picture when you nearly busted that Testerman kid's jaw."

"Two-bit druggie is lucky I didn't bust his skull." Caleb blinked and worked to focus on the younger man. "I'm a man of action, not words."

"And here I was thinking you really liked that poetry shit."

"Shut up, Deuce."

"I thought you wanted me to talk." Dean closed his eyes again, wishing they could both just be quiet and take a nice, long nap. "Make up your mind."

Caleb sighed. "Tell me more about Sammy's big plans."

"What's there to say?" Dean winced as a sharp pain knifed through his side. Maybe he wasn't quite as numb as he thought. "He thinks college is his ticket out. He thinks he can escape the whole hunting life." _Escape his family, _was the silent thought screaming in his head.

"Remember when all he wanted to do was go on a hunt with us?"

"Yeah. Now he just wants to go anywhere to get away from Dad."

Reaves snorted. "That's a baffling mystery. Johnny's so damn sweet."

They shared a look, both of them managing weak, knowing grins. "You know he means well. He wants to keep Sam safe."

"Yeah. I've been on the receiving end of his 'good intentions', Deuce. I've suffered through his protection. It sucks."

"But you keep coming back."

Caleb sighed. He knew he was meant to be a hunter the first time Mac told him about the Brotherhood, about his abilities, and the theories about his family's connection to demonic forces. And when he met John Winchester, well, it was a little like meeting a superhero. "The Brotherhood is all I have, Dean." It was everything Reaves wanted.

"But you did the whole college thing. You had a normal life for a while." God Dean hated that word, _'normal'_. It had become worse than Jim's four-letter forbidden list. "You made it into the real world."

Reaves held Dean's gaze, trying to figure out what the kid was after…what he wanted him to say. He wasn't sure if Dean wanted to know if Sam had a chance of making it on the outside, of if he wanted to be reassured by the idea it was impossible. Either way, he was going to give him the truth. "Kid , I never fit in out there. I may have been forced into that world by the ever persistent Mackland Ames; but I never walked among those people. I skirted the perimeter. If Mac knew half the shit I did while I was there, he'd kill me."

"Drugs?"

"Hell no. We already covered that. Tequila is as hard as it gets for me, Deuce."

The kid frowned. "Then what were you doing while we all thought you were off playing Joe College like a good little trust fund boy."

"I hunted."

"Alone?" Dean favored him with a baffled look. "Forget Mac, Dad would so kick your ass."

"I didn't hunt our typical baddies."

"Then what?"

Caleb thought back to that time. "Paintings."

"Come again? First poetry and now paintings? Dude, I'm so disillusioned."

Reaves frowned. "My mom's paintings, you idiot."

Dean's grin faded. Caleb had told him a little about Amelia Reaves. "Right. Mac has some of her work."

Caleb nodded, thinking about his adopted father. A pang of regret swept through him as he entertained the idea he might not see the man again. Forcing down the lump that had sprung to his throat he explained. "Dad started it by buying me one for my bedroom when I came to live with him. Then another for my birthday. He was just being Mac…you know. But it drove me crazy that there were others out there. Pieces of her that strangers with enough money could merely lay down some cash and buy."

Dean looked at him. They were bound by their mothers' tragedies as much as anything else. "How many?"

"At least a hundred."

"And?"

"And what?"

"What'd you do with them?"

"I bought most of them." Caleb grimaced as he watched Dean continue to shiver, wishing like hell he could move enough to offer some body heat, despite the embarrassment it would cause them. "I have them in the spare bedroom in my apartment." Mac would call it a shrine. He might even suggest his son seek therapy.

"Most of them?" Dean raised a brow, choking back the pain still very much present. Caleb was looking as bad as he felt. He hadn't missed the way the other man kept touching his head, how he continued to look away, thinking he was hiding his own misery.

Caleb rubbed at his head again, trying to focus. "Some I stole, when the price was too high, or the owners were partial. I got pretty damn good at the whole 'cat burglar' thing." He cut his eyes to the younger hunter again. Hunting those paintings had given him a whole new way to exorcise his demons. It was definitely not the Renaissance period of his life, more like the dark, Dark Ages. "A few I extorted, and a couple took extreme measures."

"Extreme measures?" Dean was almost afraid to ask as he saw something dangerous flash in the gold eyes of his friend. He'd seen that look before, usually just before Reaves killed something.

The psychic held his gaze, not fearing any judgments. He and Dean understood one another on a level that protected against such recriminations. "They were mine to begin with-my mother's anyway," he justified. "That bitch of an art agent sold them off one piece of a time, padding her nest egg with my family's gory history."

Dean knew Amelia Reaves had become a rare collector's dream after she was murdered by her husband. Morbidity and violence bred interest. "Art becomes more valuable if the artist is dead."

"Even better if they die in some tragic way."

"But you got them all back?"

Caleb shrugged, but Winchester knew him well enough to know he didn't take it as lightly as he was trying to project. "There are still a few floating around I haven't tracked down."

"What about the agent? Could she track them down for you?"

"She's not in the business anymore."

The coldness in the words kept Dean from asking any more on the subject. He really didn't want to know. Like that box Jim had warned them about. "So, you didn't like anything about school?"

Reaves favored him with a look far too close to sympathy. "I don't know, man. It had its points. Girls, booze…and I'll kill you if you tell Mac this but I liked the classes. I liked learning about the history of architecture, seeing the greats. And sometimes its to the benefit of my hunting to have the illusion of a normal life." It was an excellent cover, a perfect mask.

There was that word again. _Normal. _Dean licked his lips, his voice broke slightly. "Sometimes I think Sam should go."

Caleb frowned. "Why?"

"So he'll be safe. He deserves better than this…"

"Better than you, you mean?" Anger sparked, fueled by frustration and helplessness. "That's a load of shit, kid."

"No it's not. He doesn't get to stay in any place for too long… he doesn't get to make or keep any friends. Do you know this is the first Thanksgiving in years that we actually have plans to celebrate. And the last Christmas Dad even remembered…was probably the one in New York with you and Mac about four years ago. That's not fair to him."

He has you, Caleb wanted to say, but held back. Dean didn't realize what that meant: maybe it took an outsider to see. "Life ain't fair, Deuce. You know that as well as I do. You've done a hell of a job protecting Sam from that fact, but he'll have to deal with it, just like us."

"He didn't ask for any of this." Dean would do anything for his brother, to protect him from the hand that they had been dealt. It was his goal in life.

"And you did?" Caleb growled. "Did you ask to lose your Mom? Or have your Dad go all Van Helsing on you? I sure the hell didn't ask my Dad's possessed ass to kill my mom and then ventilate himself, or for me to be some kind of freak. Shit happens." It would happen to Sam, too. He wouldn't be able to deny what he was when the time came. John wouldn't be able to protect him forever.

Dean stared at him unblinking for a long moment, before his mouth twitched slightly. "We should so get a tattoo of that…Japanese symbol for it, at least."

Caleb laughed despite himself, the backlash of pain forgotten for a moment. Dean could turn his emotions off and on like a freakin' faucet. "You are so fucked up, Kid." Maybe they both needed some therapy.

"Yeah. You got yourself to blame for part of that."

Reaves swallowed thickly, "Damn straight. And for the record, Sammy could have done a whole hell of lot worse."

"Maybe." Dean was finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. "I just want him to be happy…to be safe. Maybe college is the right thing…maybe he can get away from it."

"You can't run from yourself, Dean. Sammy is what he is." Caleb was so close to telling Dean exactly what that was, that Sam was as much of an anomaly as Reaves himself. His promise to John seemed inconsequential in the dire moment. "So are we." And for good or bad, Caleb was a man of his word. He couldn't share John's secret, not even with Dean.

"We're screwed is what we are, Damien." Dean cut his eyes towards the other man, a look of complete remorse and resignation on his bruised face. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I don't think I can do this much longer. Tell Sammy…"

Caleb felt his eyes sting. He blinked quickly, not willing to give in yet. "It's okay, I'm not doing so hot myself."

"No shit." Dean still had enough energy to smirk. "I figured you for gone when you started in on that whole poetry stuff."

"You're mocking me? I was sharing my soul with you, man."

"Not exactly the last thing I want to hear."

Caleb laughed, feeling almost hysterical. "I could put some Yanni on if you like or Enya…that one they've been playing since 9-11."

Dean snorted. "I'll be in hell soon enough."

"I'll be right behind you and according to the cults so will everyone else."

"They're such happy groups." Dean coughed and choked down the bitter taste of copper and regret. "Maybe with your contacts we'll get V.I.P. seating." He hoped Sammy would forgive him.

"Maybe," Caleb gasped as a sudden knifing pain tore through his skull. "Damnit!" he hissed, and was surprised when he felt Dean's icy fingers on his wrist.

"Just breathe, man."

Reaves lowered his hands from his face. "Yeah. You too, kid."

Dean let him go, offering a weak smile. "So…what do you think that thing is?"

Caleb frowned, his breath hitching as he battled to get his shattered mind around what his friend was saying. "What…thing?"

Winchester nodded towards the floorboard where the ornately carved case they had gone to get for Jim was now open. He could barely make its secret contents out amongst the empty coffee cups and McDonald's wrappers. It looked like a statue of some sort. "Jim's mysterious antique. I hate to die…not knowing."

"Unless it's a long distance communication device or some sort of magic space heater I could give a shit."

"Right." Dean goaded. "It was killing you not knowing. I know for a fact you're the kid that unwrapped presents under the tree at Christmas and wrapped them back."

"Was not," Caleb lied. "I'm psychic remember?"

"Not that kind of psychic."

"No…that's Mac's specialty."

"He's going to hate himself for this, you know."

"Who…Mac?"

"No, Dude. Jim."

"Shit," Caleb rubbed a shaky hand over his face. The kindly priest would never let go of the idea he had sent both him and Dean to their deaths. "You're right."

"And Dad told him to send us." Dean pointed out, remembering his father had backed out of going after Bobby called with the demon-related hunt. He wondered how his father would handle losing another part of his family and where that would leave his little brother. Would John step up to the plate once he was gone?

Caleb glanced at Dean, recognizing the look on his stricken face. He wasn't above playing dirty if it meant giving Dean a little motivation. "Sammy will feel guilt, too. He was being a pain in the ass."

Winchester rolled his eyes. "Sammy feels guilty for the small pox infected blankets the white man gave the Indians and to hear him go on about World War II, you'd think he was Hitler in a past life."

Okay, so Dean had him there. "True." His head hurt so damn bad, and Dean was shivering so he could feel the vibrations through the bench seat they shared. "That's why he needs you around…to set him straight."

"I'm tired," Dean admitted, and Caleb wasn't sure if he was just talking about his current state. "I can't…"

"Yes you can, kid." Reaves snapped as he watched Dean's chin start to drop towards his chest. Panic was building inside him again, pushing at the creeping numbness that had started to spread across his body like the red stained snow in the seat around Dean. "Deuce!"

The kid lifted his head, but his gaze was distant, unfocused. "Caleb…"

"Damn it." Reaves reached out, hoping his body didn't betray him and shut down from the agony he was inflicting. He grabbed Dean's cold, clammy face, forcing him to look at him. "Sam needs you, Dean. You hear me? You aren't finished yet."

"No…he doesn't…"

"Are you kidding me? Have you gotten him drunk? Has he worshipped the porcelain god with the mandatory tequila offering yet? Have you taught him how to pick up a woman-given him the black bra and strappy sandals speech? I know for a fact you haven't taken him to the Red Caboose, kid. You really going to leave it to Bobby to get him laid. Or God, even worse…Joshua. Kid'll be a virgin forever."

Dean blinked, wishing he could make sense of all the words the other hunter was saying. "You take him."

Caleb felt like screaming or at least killing something real slow and painful like. Maybe if he just shook the idiot really hard. "No way. That's a job for a brother. Do you hear me? He needs his big brother."

Dean didn't answer him, instead his eyes closed and he went limp, his head lolling in Reaves' grasp. "Fuck, Deuce," the psychic choked, easing the kid's head back against the seat before letting his fingers slide down the boy's neck.

He held his breath; not knowing he was mimicking the same thing Dean had done for him only a couple of hours earlier. It took a moment for his near-frozen fingers to feel the faint rhythm, but the younger hunter's pulse was still there.

"Come on, man. Don't run out on me." Caleb slid his fingers through the boy's hair. "John and Sammy will kill me."

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"I'm going to kill him," John growled as the phone at the farm continued to ring.

"Who?" Bobby shifted his gaze from the snowy road to the other hunter. "Jim? Because that doesn't sound very Lancelot-like of you."

"Sam." John snarled, ending the call. "He's not there."

"Maybe he's out at the barn, checking on dinner."

Winchester didn't even bother with a response as he punched in his son's cell number.

"I should have made him come with us."

Singer snorted. "Or you could have just pulled that cob out of your ass and let him go with Caleb and Dean."

Bobby was spared John's reply as Sam's voice mail beeped. "Samuel, when you get this message you better damn well call me back. And you better hope you're not out in this fucking storm."

"Or what?" Singer asked, when John tossed the cell back onto the seat.

Winchester frowned. "Or what, what?"

"What if the kid is out here, what are you going to do about it?"

"That's none of your damn business."

The mechanic shook his head. "See, that's your problem right there."

"And that is?"

"You won't do a damn thing and you know it. Just a bunch of yelling, might as well scream a blue streak at old Clemens for all the good it will do. The two of you are like a couple of rams battling it out. All you're going to accomplish is giving yourself one hell of a headache. Not to mention the rest of us who have to watch."

"I'll handle Sam."

"Uh huh," Bobby nodded. "You going to bust his rank or put him in the stockade, Corporal?"

"How about I just bust your face, Bobby?"

"It's that attitude that puts you on everyone's shit list, Winchester."

"Screw'em."

Singer laughed. "See there. I bet Slim is thinking the same damn thing about being on your bad side, my friend." He turned his gaze back to the road. "That apple didn't even make it off the tree."

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"Fucking tree limb," Sam swore as he tried again to get the Jeep to budge from the ditch. So much for four wheel drive. He'd had to swerve to avoid two huge branches that had given way under the weight of the newly fallen snow, and had managed to mar the Wrangler in a mess of mud and slush. Caleb was going to kill him. Reaves might not have had nearly an attachment to vehicles his brother did, but the old beat up Jeep had been a constant in his life since Bobby had given it to him after a successful hunt when he was sixteen.

The back tires spun again. He jerked the stick back into reverse and then surged into first rocking the vehicle, hoping to finally get some traction. It didn't move, only dug deeper and Sam pounded his hand on the steering wheel, eliciting a whimper from Scout. He sighed, raking a gloved hand through his hair. "Sorry, girl."

The teen picked up his cell phone, punching in his brother's number again. Sam needed to hear Dean's voice, as much as he needed his help now. The teen wasn't used to arguing with his brother. That honor he reserved for his father. If this was some kind of silent treatment tactic, the youngest Winchester would let Dean have it after he apologized of course, for being such a dick.

Dean was usually the buffer, getting caught in the crossfire. The barbs weren't usually directed at him. But if Sam were honest, he'd taken his frustrations out more and more frequently on the one person who would actually listen to him, as his father shut himself off.

"I deserve a freezing walk back to Jim's girl." He sighed as he hung up. "I hope you're up for it."

Scout barked, actually appearing anxious to get out in the white stuff. Of course she liked to swim in the frigid pond water in December, too. The teen sighed, grabbing his flashlight and cell phone.

"Let's get moving. We'll comb the side of the road as we go." A shiver raced along his body as the cold air rushed in, and Sam pulled his jacket around him tighter, cursing the fickle southern weather. It had been a sunny sixty-five just two days before.

A coldness seemed to seep through his layers of clothing and Sam thought of his brother. He hadn't worn a heavy coat and if they were out in this..."Come on, Sammy," he chided himself. "Don't go there." Still, he put the phone to his ear. It wouldn't hurt to try his brother just one more time.

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"Come on, Sammy," Caleb swore as he once again tried to reach the ringing cell. "How about some help here." He knew it was Sam, and it had nothing to do with any precognitive ability. His head was too scrambled to try and access any talents he possessed. Dean's phone had been ringing since the twenty-year-old hunter had passed out. Caleb knew instinctively wherever the youngest Winchester was, he had sensed the change. Even if Sam didn't realize why, he was desperate to get a hold of his brother.

But sometimes desperation wasn't enough. Reaves pushed himself to try to get closer to Dean and collapsed across the seat. "Fuck, Dean, open your damn eyes and tell me what a fucking pussy I am," he breathed.

"I know you want to so bust my chops for the whole deer in the headlights thing. Who's going to be a pain in my ass if you're not around?" Caleb turned his head, watching the faint rise and fall of Dean's chest. "Because you are you know…have been since I met you."

Reaves thought back to the first time he'd met the Winchesters. He'd only been with Mac for about six months then, still trying to figure everything out. Honestly, he was on a huge self-pity trip, all piss and vinegar as his grandmother would say. "You know I thought you were such a freak. You wouldn't say anything, just latched onto Sammy like he was some kind of security blanket, and Mac said I had to keep you entertained…meaning I was suppose to play with you. Shit I was thirteen and thought I should have been playing with the big boys, not some weirdo five-year-old kid and his real-life Buddy doll."

Caleb swallowed thickly, feeling another tug of unconsciousness on his overtaxed body. He wasn't even shivering anymore. That was a bad sign his body had given up on trying to warm itself. He blinked hard, trying not to follow suit trying to keep his thoughts together. "But when I was a kid, I always wanted a little brother…" The psychic could almost hear Dean's scoffing voice. _'Be careful what you wish for, Damien.' _

Reaves grinned. "Right. I gotta tell you, after watching you and Sammy all these years, I'm not sure I would have been cut out for it. Too much work…I'm too damn selfish. I'd never be as good at it as you, Deuce…but if I did have…I mean…if things had been different, I would have…" Caleb pounded his fist on the steering wheel, struggling futilely to free himself, as the phone rang yet again. "I would have sucked at it!" He yelled. "I can't even get you out of this fucking truck."

"Some fucking Knight I'm going to be…I can't even keep the Guardian safe from a car wreck." He continued to push and pull, but the only thing it did was increase the pain in his head, bringing tears to his eyes and a huge lump to his throat. "Goddamn it!" Reaves reached out, focusing the last reserve of energy he had on the phone, pushing through the blinding pain, not caring if his skull followed through on its threat to fracture into a million pieces. He was determined to answer it one way or another. "Sam…help!"

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"_Sam…help!"_ Sam Winchester winced as a sharp pain sliced through his skull. He pulled the cell phone from his ear as if the offending object had been the source, nearly dropping the flashlight he was holding in his other hand. He focused on the pale blue screen, realizing it hadn't changed. It was still ringing. No one had answered on his brother's end. "But…" he looked at Scout, who had also stopped beside of him, leaning into his leg slightly. "I know I heard…."

"_Sam…please." _

"Caleb." Sam winced, as more words pushed themselves into his thoughts. He lifted his head, peered around them as if Reaves might suddenly materialize from the dark night. Scout whined, shaking her head too. She barked then, the echo of her greeting piercing and clear in their muffled universe of blinding white. The teen glanced down at the dog, who pawed at her head, scattering the flakes of snow that had landed on her fur. "Oh, God. It _was_ Caleb."

Sam took a deep breath, trying to control his racing thoughts. Reaves had tried to contact him, like he did when they were kids, like he connected with Atticus when they were lost in the woods at Jim's cabin all those years ago. "He has to be close, girl." The teen shook his head as he thought of the _Lassie_ comments his brother would have let loose with, but if he found him, Dean could torment him all he wanted. He would be Timmy for the next six months if it meant Sam found him and Caleb.

"Come on, Scout. Just like when we use to play hide and seek." The Lab barked again, and Sam felt it too. He pinched at the bridge of his nose, the niggling feeling not as strong. "Find Caleb, girl. Find him." He didn't let himself concentrate on what that meant, as Scout took off scampering through the snow on the side of the road. Sam stumbled to keep up with her, the light of the flashlight reflecting off her black coat.

It wasn't long before they came to a curve in the road, and Scout's intermittent barking became continuous as she barreled off the side of the road, disappearing from the teen's view through the tree-line. Sam stopped where the freshly fallen snow had not covered the deep wounds in the ground where something had torn into the leaf-covered, earth. "Oh no."

He willed his legs to move, following Scout's trail and barking. The Lab had made it to the crashed vehicle, now dashing around it in circles, yipping the way she often would when she had cornered a helpless yard rabbit or one of Jim's chickens. Sam's heart sped up, the fresh pumping of blood almost painful in his cold-restricted vascular system. "Dean," he whispered, seeing how the old Ford was smashed against the trees, the entire hood and engine seeming to fold in towards the bed of the truck. "DEAN!"

Sam half-stumbled, half-ran, down the embankment his long legs lacking Scout's maneuverability or gracefulness. "Caleb!" The teen yelled, reaching the passenger's side where he could barely make out the outline of his brother's face. He was hoping for a reply, any sign that things weren't as bad as he had feared. But only silence and Scout's intermittent whines greeted him.

Sam steeled himself and reached his hand through the shattered window, reaching his brother with relative ease. Dean's skin was like ice to the touch, but he was breathing, and at the moment that was all that mattered. "Dean?" Sam tried again, not liking the pale, bluish tint to the older Winchester's skin. "Can you hear me?"

Scout put her paws up on the side of the truck and barked, startling Sam just as his brother's distinctive ring tone chirped from somewhere between the smashed passenger door and the seat. "Damn it," he swore, raking a hand through his hair as he let his gaze slide to Caleb, who was slumped against the steering wheel, looking just as broken and bloodied as Dean. "This can't be happening."

Again Scout barked, letting Sam know that it was indeed happening and that he better damn well do something to fix it. Dean's cell stopped ringing, only to be replaced by the distant ringing of another one somewhere off to Sam's left. _Caleb's._

"Caleb!" Sam called. The psychic didn't move, and there was no silent, telepathic reply either.

No more than a second passed after Reaves' phone silenced that Sam felt his own vibrate. He growled deep in his throat and pulled the lifeline out of his pocket, absolutely sure of who it was.

"I told you something was wrong, Dad!"

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"I told you not to leave that fucking farm, Samuel!" John Winchester yelled over the words his son was shouting at him.

Bobby gave him a hard look, hearing Sam's voice over the phone and shook his head. "A couple of stubborn rams."

"_DAD! Listen to me!" _

"No, goddamnit. You listen to me for a change." He didn't even have to see his son to know that Sam was rolling his eyes, an action that had nearly gotten him his first throttling by John on several occasions over the last year. John was just about to launch into interrogation mode and find out exactly where his son was when the boy's next words sucked all the oxygen from his would be inferno.

"_Dean and Caleb are hurt. They wrecked off of Silver Creek Road. Dad…are you there?" _

"What? What the hell do you mean they're hurt?" John had tried to call both his eldest son and Reaves. He'd convinced himself they were drawing out the hunt as long as possible, using any excuse they could to hang out at one of the local bars near New Haven. "Sam!"

Bobby slowed the Impala to a crawl so he could concentrate on what John was saying. The man's demeanor had changed instantly, going from infuriated father to a scared shitless daddy. "Son, where's your brother? Is Caleb with you?"

"_They wrecked the truck, Dad. It's bad." _

John could hear the slight panic in his son's voice. "Calm down, Sammy. Are you with them?"

"_Yes. Scout and I found them. They ran the truck off the road about ten miles out of New Haven." _

"South or North, son?"

There was a moment of silence, then, "_South, going towards the farm. They're not responding, Dad. I don't even know if Caleb's breathing." _

John closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he fought back the fear that seized his heart. "Just take it easy, kiddo. They'll be okay." Winchester glanced to Bobby. "Call 9-1-1. Tell them there's been an accident off Silver Creek, about ten miles out."

"_Dad, they'll need to cut them out." _

"Shit," John growled, looking to Singer again. "Tell them they'll need the cutting crew."

"Damn," Bobby swore.

John took a deep breath. "Sam, you just hold tight, we're not too far out."

"_Dad, I'm sorry…" _

"No, Sammy, I'm the one who's sorry. We'll be there. Just hold on. And watch out for your brother and Caleb."

"_You know I will." _

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"You know I will never forgive you if you die and leave me alone with Dad, Dean. The man is impossible," Sam said to his brother as he struggled out of his jacket and draped it across the older boy. "Same goes for you," he called out to Caleb, who had yet to move. "Dragons aren't allowed to quit their charges."

At least the teen had found the psychic's pulse after a few heart-stopping seconds. It was as slow and thready as Dean's. But its presence was the most Sam could hope for, considering.

"You two are going to be in so much trouble when Jim sees his truck. He loves Betsey. She's been around longer than we've been alive. We all learned to drive in her, remember?"

Sam hadn't been able to find a way to open either door, but he had made his way back to the jeep and retrieved some blankets and a first aide kit that hadn't given him much to work with, considering he could barely reach either of the hunters. But at least he could provide some meager warmth until help arrived. And he could talk to them, which made him feel better. "Dean backed her into the barn trying to impress Mr. Hensen's daughters that time when you were suppose to be watching us," Sam said to Caleb. "And Jim made you help Dad repaint the whole body."

Scout whined loudly and Sam hoped she could hear something he couldn't. Like sirens.

He was searching the darkened distance, wondering if he should go up to the road to flag the ambulance down so it wouldn't accidentally pass them by when a muffled groan drew all his attention to his brother. "Dean? Hey, can you hear me? Dean?"

"Sam…my?" Dean felt something warm brush against his face and he blinked, trying to focus in on the familiar touch. "Sam?"

"It's me, Dean. I'm here, just take it easy."

"What…what's going on? Why…are we outside?"

"You had a wreck, but help's on the way."

"We wrecked the Impala?"

Sam frowned at his brother's confusion. "No, Dean. You and Caleb…you wrecked Jim's truck. Remember?"

Dean opened his eyes, a mixture of fear and pain paling the bright green irises. "Caleb?"

"He's alive."

Dean tried to turn his head to look towards the other man, but ended up coughing instead, blood splattering the white snow of the dashboard. "Oh, God," he groaned, and Sam felt his own chest tighten in agony.

"Dean, take it easy. Just breathe, okay. The ambulance will be here any minute."

"He…hit his head." Dean gasped. "Tell them no drugs…Sammy."

"I got it covered, big brother. Just relax." Sam let his hand rest on his brother's head. "You both are going to be fine. A few stitches, some Tylenol, and you'll be home in no time, bitching about the Ham we're having for Thanksgiving dinner."

"You're such…a bad liar, little brother." Dean licked his lips, tasted blood. "What are you doing here?"

"Where else would I be on a snowy night?"

Dean started at him. "Home," he breathed.

Sam ran his fingers through his brother's wet hair, forcing a smirk. "I am home, you idiot. You're the only home I have."

Dean rolled his eyes. "God…do you have a concussion, too? Because you're sounding awful poetic, bro."

Sam frowned. "I'm fine. And you're going to be fine, too. That's an order. Understand?"

"Damn…now you sound like Dad.'

"No. It's just me, Dean. Sammy."

Dean blinked. "I miss Sammy, Dude."

Sam's hand stilled as he was taken aback by the hurt lacing his brother's words. "I didn't go anywhere, man." The overwhelming guilt eating at his heart told him that wasn't exactly true. He faltered…"At least, I didn't mean to."

"Sam…"

"Yeah."

"It's okay to go…just come back…okay?"

Sam frowned and watched his brother's eyes slide shut again. "Dean! Come on, stay with me. It's not okay for you to go. Do you hear me? Dean!"

Scout suddenly barked and took off towards the road as Sam heard the sirens echoing off the hills around them. "Stay with me, man." The teen tightened his hold on his brother. "Stay with me."

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"Stay with me, son." Doctor Robert Montoya shone the pen light in his patient's eyes again, trying to get the young man to answer his questions.

"Get that fucking…light away from me," the patient yelled, obviously causing himself more pain as he fought against the restraints holding him down.

"His pupils are not reacting evenly," the physician stated calmly, ignoring the boy. "I want a full battery of scans from Radiology before we proceed. He needs stitches but if we have to go in…"

"Where's Dean?" The kid struggled, pulling his head away from the doctor's painful grip. "Tell me what is going on!"

"You're at Baptist East Hospital in Louisville. You were in an accident," Montoya repeated the same thing he had already explained to his obviously distraught and delusional head trauma patient.

"Get these things off me!" The feeling of being tied down was not an experience that brought back fond memories for Caleb Reaves. Neither was awakening in a starkly white room with unknown doctors and nurses in crisp, white uniforms. "Let me go!"

"Son, we are trying to…"

"I'm not your son!" Caleb yelled. "My father is Doctor Mackland Ames," he growled. "If you don't know him…you will. He eats fucking family practitioners like you for breakfast."

The doctor looked at his nurse. "Did he come in with anyone? "

"His brother signed the insurance forms."

"John?" Caleb asked through the haziness trying to surround him once again. "Was it…"

"Please stop moving, sir." The nurse was trying to hold his head still again, and Caleb squeezed his eyes shut as the doctor went back to his torture routine. "John!" Reaves yelled this time and was rewarded with the angry, booming voice heralding the arrival of the calvary.

"What the hell is going on in here?"

"Sir, you can't be back here." One of the ER techs tried to reroute the two disheveled men who had just barreled into the examination ward, but failed as the taller of the two shoved right past him.

"John," Bobby warned as he recognized the 'bull in the china shop' mentality that had slipped over Winchester from the moment they had heard Caleb's distress from the waiting room.

His friend ignored him and continued on in. "Caleb?"

"John?" Reaves nearly choked on the name as a wave of relief crashed over him and the physician released his face.

"You need to return to the waiting room, sir." Montoya informed a red-faced John Winchester. "We will call security if necessary."

"What are you doing to him?" John barked at the man. "Why is he strapped down?" He demanded without giving the man a chance to answer his first question.

"He is suffering from an acute head wound and the delirium that comes with it as well as the irrationality from hypothermia. We couldn't keep him from trying to evade treatment."

"Hell doc if we tied the boy down every time he was irrational or wouldn't do what we said he'd stay hog-tied," Bobby spoke up from beside John and Winchester frowned at him.

"His name is Caleb and remove the damn restraints. He won't be going anywhere."

"John?" Caleb called again and John side-stepped the doctor, reaching for the bindings on Caleb's right wrist. "Bobby." He jutted his chin to the other side of the bed and Singer moved in that direction with a quiet nod.

"Excuse me, Mam." The mechanic nudged the baffled nurse out of the way, undoing the padded straps around Caleb's arm. "Any other time the boy might take to you tying him up, but he's not exactly in a romantic mood and I'm not sure if you could follow through seeing as how you're on duty and all."

"The hospital will not be responsible…"

"I'll be responsible," John snapped, cutting the doctor off. He glanced at Caleb, who was pale and still shivering despite the warm saline drip and heated blankets. "You with me, kid?"

Reaves opened his eyes and nodded. "Just get me loose."

"Hang on."

"And who exactly are you?" Montoya demanded.

John cut his eyes towards the physician. "I'm his brother. Read the paperwork."

"So the infamous Mackland Ames is your father also?"

Winchester looked at Caleb and sighed.

Bobby laughed, attempting to salvage the cover story in his own way. "They have the same mother. Mackland had one of those May-December flings." He glanced up once he had freed Reaves. "Lovely woman named Missouri, heart and hips as big as the state she was named after. The good doctor couldn't help himself," he added, winking at Caleb, who was rubbing his bruised wrist and still looking rather out of it.

"Where's Dean?" the psychic asked John. "Is he okay?"

Winchester squeezed his shoulder. "He's here. Up in surgery."

"Surgery?" Reaves swallowed. "Shit. I'm sorry, man…"

"Hey," John moved his hand to rest on the kid's hair. "Take it easy. Dean's going to be okay. They're just patching him up. Sammy will let us know when they're done."

"Sammy?" Caleb frowned as a faint memory of Sam's voice tickled his mind. "He found us?"

"Yeah." John grinned. "Hot-wired your jeep."

"Sounds…like a Winchester."

"Look." Montoya stepped towards the bed, demanding John's attention. "I don't really care who you are. But you need to leave this examination ward."

"Talk to Doctor Elizabeth McCoy," John told him, gruffly. "She's Chief of Staff here, if I'm not mistaken. She'll vouch for us." Mackland's old nemesis had made quite the name for herself, moving from the small town clinic in New Haven to one of the large, prestigious hospitals in Louisville.

"Or have us hauled off to jail," Bobby muttered under his breath only to receive another scathing Winchester glare.

"Let me guess, Doctor McCoy is also a friend of yours?" The young doctor looked John up and down, obviously doubting any connection to the refined surgeon in question.

"As a matter of fact he his." Elizabeth McCoy had been paged to trauma bay twelve with a code red expecting the worst. After talking to Sam Winchester up in the surgery wing she should not have been surprised. The doctor shook her head at Winchester. "Why am I not surprised to find you in the middle of my ER security risk?"

"Liz." John nodded, and the woman's frown turned into a warm smile.

"Doctor Montoya have you been giving Mister Winchester a difficult time?"

"I'm trying to treat his brother, Doctor." Montoya gestured to the young man in question. "He's suffered a severe head trauma and was brought in from a car wreck borderline hypothermic."

"Brother?" Liz raised a defined brow, taking the clipboard from Caleb's nurse. "You have issues with the treatment we're providing, John?" She gave the weary hunter an appraising glance. He hadn't changed much in the five years since she had seen him last. "This isn't the New Haven clinic. We're state of the art here."

"I have issues with them restraining him."

McCoy frowned as her eyes went to the patient in question. "Caleb?" She pulled her own pen light out and lifted each of Reaves' eyelids. "Are you purposely trying to get our hospital sued by your father? Because, if that man bullies his way into _this_ ER, I may not be able to keep up my professional courtesy."

"No, mam," Caleb swallowed thickly, pulling away from the ministrations. "Mac's not here."

"He's on his way."

"Great," Both Caleb and Liz replied with twin glances of irritation in John's direction.

"Then we should definitely get you down to Radiology, young man."

"No," Reaves shook his head. "I'm good. I want to wait on Dean."

"I wasn't asking your permission," Liz smiled to take the sting out of her words. She then lifted her gaze to John. "But perhaps your brother could stress the importance of making sure you're okay."

"You're going, Caleb."

"But…"

"That's an order."

"I'll go with you, kid. I want to see proof that there's really a living organ inside that cement skull of yours."

"Johnny," Reaves implored, ignoring Bobby and shooting another pleading look in his mentor's direction. "I can sign an AMA."

"And have Mac climb up my ass? I don't think so, kiddo. Let them do their tests and get you stitched up." Winchester looked at Singer. "Make sure he's on his best behavior, Bobby."

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"You come to see if I was behaving myself?" Sam asked his father, without looking up from the magazine he was reading. He could recognize the man's footfalls anywhere, and the disappointment-laced sigh was always a dead giveaway.

"I thought they told you the dog couldn't stay." John rubbed at his tired eyes. Scout was curled up on Sam's jacket on the floor. "You want to get us thrown out?"

Sam glanced up at him. "If you're bad temper hasn't landed us on the sidewalk, I think we're good." The teen went back to his magazine. " Besides, Liz said she could stay. It's cold outside and if she said if they let Bobby in, they couldn't exactly deny Scout. Both of them have fleas and scratch their privates in public."

"And you gave her the eyes?" John took the seat next to his boy.

The kid glared at him. "What eyes?"

"Never mind," John stifled a yawn. "Any word on your brother yet?"

"I said I would come get you," Sam snapped. "He's still in surgery."

"Okay," John bit back on the angry retort, telling himself that it was past midnight and Sam was coming off an adrenaline rush.

"How's Caleb?" The teen asked, quietly, sounding more like the kid that John missed.

"They were going to take him down for some tests. He wasn't too happy about it."

"He's awake?" Sam sat up, the magazine forgotten.

"Yeah," John nodded, with a weak smile. "He was giving the staff hell as usual."

Sam swallowed thickly. "Thank God. I thought…" He frowned then, his eyes going to the silver bay doors separating him from his brother. He shook his head. "I'm glad he's going to be okay."

"Dean's going to be okay, too, Sammy," John said softly, reading his son's thoughts. They might not have been getting along lately, but he was still the boy's father. He knew his every expression, every mannerism. "He's tough."

"Yeah." Sam nodded, looking up at his father. He wanted to believe him…have that undying faith like he use to have. Of course that was before he realized his father didn't always know everything, wasn't always right. "He's not going anywhere."

John smiled. "Of course not. He's our family. Families stick together, Sammy. All for one and one for all."

Sam's mouth twitched. "That's the Musketeer's, Dad."

John laughed, reaching out and ruffling Sam's hair. "Same difference, kiddo. Just without the swords and horses."

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"Mac, I'm not sure I'm the whole _'all for one, one for all'_ kind of guy."

Mackland Ames laughed. "That's good, Samuel, because I'm not giving you a sword and proclaiming you a loyal member of the King's royal guard. This is The Brotherhood, not the Musketeers."

Sam grinned, thinking about the conversation he had shared with his father the night before. "Same difference, Mac."

"You've been listening to too many of Jim Murphy's stories. The Brotherhood is not quite so glamorous, I'm afraid."

"But I'm only sixteen. Isn't there some kind of rule about being eighteen before you get a ring?"

"There is no such age requirement. One gets one's ring when it is the right time. When the person has proved themselves worthy of the honor and capable of bearing the responsibility."

Sam looked at the silver ring that Mac was holding. It was the same type that his brother and Caleb wore. The same as the one he knew his father kept locked in a wooden box that had once belonged to his mother, one of the only things of hers to survive the fire that took her life and their home. Bobby, Jim, and Mac also wore them. It was indeed a privilege to be included among such great men.

At one time, Sam had dreamed of the day he would get his. But things had changed. Hunting no longer seemed mysterious or fun. It only seemed to bring pain. "I don't know if I want to be in The Brotherhood, Mac."

The doctor frowned, scratched his head. "Sam did I ever tell you about why I became a doctor?"

The teen shook his head, and Mac smiled. He nodded to the wall of framed certificates and degrees decorating Elizabeth McCoy's office. "I wanted all that."

"Fortune and glory?"

Ames nodded. "Oh yes, and much, much more." The doctor stood, going to the window where he could see the first traces of a magnificent sun set. "But what started me on that path to medical notoriety was my mother."

"Your mother?" Sam frowned, not sure if he had ever heard Mackland or Caleb mention a Mrs. Ames.

"I don't remember her, although from pictures, she was quite the beauty." He turned to face Sam once more, leaning against the window ledge. "She died when I was a baby, during childbirth actually." Mac tapped his head. "Embolism."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me, Sam. I want you to understand that you and I are not so different." When Sam only continued to stare at him, Mac continued. "You see, after my mother's death, my father became a very driven man. Not that he wasn't so before her passing, but afterwards he become slightly obsessed. He buried a large piece of himself with my mother, and without her, I believe he didn't know quite how to be a father." He raised a brow. "Sound familiar?"

Sam exhaled loudly, shoving stands of his too-long hair behind an ear. "Yeah."

"Albeit, Cullen Ames was hunting down the almighty dollar and not ghosts and poltergeists; he was rather distracted from his duties of a father. And I didn't have a Dean, but I did have an Arthur?"

"An Arthur?"

"Yes, like Bruce Wayne's butler."

Sam grinned. "Is this where you tell me you're a superhero?"

Mac sighed. "You have been hanging around my son and your brother entirely too much."

"Sorry, go on."

"Anyway, I went to boarding schools mostly, where I excelled in academia and polo. And then on to college, where my competitive nature and lack of people skills pushed me towards the medical field."

"Did you think about your mom?"

"You mean did I want to avenge her death by becoming the best damn doctor the world had ever seen?"

When Sam nodded Mac rubbed a hand over his mustache. "That was part of it, I suppose. But I must tell you Sam, that I also liked the attention it got me, and the fact that my father never wanted me to become a doctor didn't hurt my ambition, either."

"Why not? Most normal families love the idea of having a doctor in the family."

"Or a lawyer?" Mac raised a brow, and Sam shrugged.

"They are both worthy and honorable vocations, although my reasons to be a doctor weren't so noble in the beginning. I loved the thrill of reaching every summit before me, and soon I was baffling teachers and veteran physicians with my talents and bold and brazen, cutting-edge techniques." Mac grinned. "Arrogant is what I was and damn lucky."

The doctor sighed, running his finger over his eyebrow. "Then in one blinding moment of oncoming headlights and blaring horns, I lost it all." He glanced at Sam. "Drunk drivers and unsuspecting deer can do a lot of damage."

Sam swallowed thickly, realizing that things could have gone so much worse. After all, he was spending Thanksgiving with his intact and only slightly damaged family, albeit in a hospital ward. "Yeah." He cleared his throat. "You were in a coma for a long time. Right?"

Ames nodded. "Three months. And when I did awake, it was to a different world." The doctor held the boy's gaze. "I had to make a choice Sam. I could take one path or another. One would lead me to my destiny, the other would have been easier, but not the true one for who I had become."

"I don't know what my destiny is, Mac."

Mac smiled. "No one does, Sam, until they find themselves face to face with it. Then there is no time for hesitation. There is only time to take up arms and charge forward. For me, it was meeting Missouri Mosley, who then led me to Jim Murphy, who sent me to save a young boy on the verge of disaster."

"Caleb," Sam said, softly.

Mac nodded. "Caleb." He cleared his throat, glancing away for a moment under the guise of searching the glowing city sky line. "Then, Jim sent me to meet the stubborn bastard we know as your father." The psychic turned back to the teen, squeezing Sam's shoulder. "Who in turn brought you and your brother into my life. Makes that car wreck and all that came with it almost seem worth it."

"So you think I _should _take the ring?" Sam stared at the silver band in Mac's hand.

Mac held the band out. "I think you should take some time to decide if The Brotherhood is where you belong." He waited for Sam to take it. "The ring is yours no matter."

Sam frowned, looking at the ring with wariness. "I have no choice?"

"There is always a choice, son. But if you're not careful, life chooses you." Mac tapped his head. "Like with my abilities."

"But I'm not psychic, Mac." The teen sighed and Ames looked away again, although Sam didn't recognize the emotions in his eyes this time . "And I'm not a great hunter like Dean and Dad."

Ames turned his gaze on him once more. "No, you are a great hunter like _Samuel Winchester_. Each person brings their own gifts to this world." He made sure Sam was hearing him. "And you have brought many."

Sam smiled, closing his fingers around the ring. "Sometimes I just feel like an outsider."

Mac laughed. "And you think I feel like I belong to John and Bobby's good 'ol boy club?" He shook his head. "Sometimes, Sam, I wonder if those two and myself are even in the same species, let alone brothers in a common cause."

"But Dad's your best friend?"

Ames nodded fiercely. "Of course he is, and I love the bastard. He would die for me, Sam. In a heartbeat." He snapped his finger. "And he would die for my son, as I would his." Mac winked at the boy. "Whether he was a hunter or a famous lawyer."

"I'll think about it." Sam held the other man's gaze. "And thank you for the ring."

Mac waved off the sentiment. "Thank, Jim. He's the man with all the magical silver."

Sam frowned. "Why did you give me the ring?"

Ames sighed. The boy was sharp. "Remember that destiny thing I was talking about?"

"Yeah."

"Same deal, son. It will all be revealed in due time."

Sam grinned. "You really like all this cloak and dagger stuff, don't you?"

"Are you kidding?" Mac threw an arm over the boy's shoulder. "I always wanted to be a Musketeer."

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Caleb watched the nurse check Dean's vitals, giving her a winning smile before he sat down in the chair beside the hospital bed. "How's he doing?"

"Your nephew is doing much better," she told him, and Reaves caught the kid's smirk out of the corner of his eye.

He read the nametag that proclaimed the cute redhead as Millie. "He comes from tough stock. It's hard to keep a good man down, Millie."

"I'm sure." Millie's green eyes went from Reaves to Winchester, and she blushed slightly. "But let me know if there's anything I can do for either of you."

"Oh, we will." Reaves watched her go with a low whistle. "Maybe I shouldn't have checked my self out AMA."

"What? No poetry? No quoting Whitman or Wright?" Dean snorted. "You could have offered to draw her a picture, showed her your brooding artistic side."

"Shut up." Caleb kicked his feet up on the bed, leaning back in the chair. "Or I won't tell you the big secret."

"The big secret?" Dean sighed. "Did you get boobs and grow a uterus while I was out of it?"

Caleb shuddered. "Deuce, hearing you say the word uterus is as twilight zone as you talking to me about Frank Lloyd Wright."

Dean ignored him. "So, Reava, give me the juicy gossip."

"Sammy's getting his ring."

"What?" Dean sat up in the bed, wincing slightly as the stitches in his side pulled. "No way."

"Oh yeah." Reaves took his feet down, leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Mac's doing the honors as we speak."

"Should I even ask how you know this?"

Caleb shrugged, grinning evilly. "Sometimes I just can't block out all the external stimuli …especially with this concussion fucking up my abilities."

"Right, like Jim's going to buy that." Dean frowned. "Are you sure? I mean…what the fuck? Sam's still a kid. He's sixteen."

"Ouch, right." Caleb nodded in commiseration. "I was eighteen, you were eighteen. The only thing sweet about it will be rubbing it in Sawyer's face. I mean, if Sam's on the gifted path, Joshua is so locked on the special education track."

"Is this all because he saved our asses?" Dean relaxed back into the pillows, his stitches twinging his side mercilessly.

"Technically, he didn't save our asses." Reaves crossed his arms. "I mean, I made contact with him."

"What did you tell me about sometimes you're the hero, and sometimes you're the sidekick?" Winchester raised his arm up, tucking his hand under his head.

Caleb snorted. "I meant you…not me. I'm not sidekick material."

Dean's frown deepened. "And why is it that every freakin' time somebody gets a ring, I end up almost dying?"

The psychic looked at him. "You weren't the only one who's suffered for the cause. I was right there every time, Dude."

"Oh, yeah, let's see the scars?" Winchester lifted his head up and glared at the other hunter.

"They're all on the inside," Reaves replied, a mocking hand covering his heart. "I've had to watch you almost die three times now."

Dean glared at him. "_Watch_ being the key word there, Damien."

Reaves shook his head. "Seriously, Deuce, it's not easy being on the sidelines." Helpless to stop someone from hurting, from slipping away. "Trust me. Watching someone…" he sighed, faltering for words that would ensnare the right sentiment. "It's a bitch."

The younger hunter's lip twitched. "So much for thinking you were poetic."

"My men Whitman and Frost didn't ever pen anything to accurately describe the way I feel about you, kiddo."

"Shelley might have," Bobby said, walking into the room with all the stealth of an Apache warrior. "Or maybe Poe."

"God, I hate it when you do that," Caleb snapped, shooting the older man an annoyed glare.

"I can't for the life of me understand why." The mechanic shrugged, rubbing at his scraggly whiskers.

"Could be because of the time you drew one of your little demon-torture circles around me while I was sleeping."

Singer laughed. "Ahh, that was a good one. Proved it would work, now didn't I."

"Proved Mac could kick your ass, too," Dean spoke up. "Who knew he could throw a punch like that."

Bobby snorted, hitching a hip on the end of Winchester's bed. "Hell, I could tell you stories about both your daddies that would leave you slacked-jawed and praying for daylight."

Dean and Caleb exchanged looks. "Kind of the same effect that staying at your place has always had on us."

"And you wonder why I had to put a pork chop in your pocket to get the dogs to play with you, kid," Bobby smiled at Reaves. "Damn good thing you've got money and looks, because your personality sucks."

"'least I got two out of the three."

The mechanic nodded. "Yeah, I just got the looks."

"You wish."

Bobby's reply was cut off by a flurry of activity that brought Jim Murphy through the door bearing all sorts of bags and containers. John was following closely behind, his own arms full of supplies. "Damn, you two knock over the local Wal-mart?"

"Are you kidding?" John snorted. "This was Mac's idea. The last time he went into Wal-mart we had to hear a thirty minute lecture on what Sam Walton's insidious monopolizing was doing to the economy of the small businessman."

Caleb nodded. "I use to buy my clothes there to piss him off."

"Not much has changed," Dean remarked with a pointed look at Reaves' destroyed jeans and ragged blue Senators T-shirt.

"Said the Salvation Army bargain shopper."

"Boys." Jim cleared his throat. "It's Thanksgiving."

"Come on, Jim. What's a Holiday without a little boyish blood shed?" Bobby said with a gleeful gleam in his eyes. "The smell of stuffing always brings back fond memories of the time Dean broke Joshua's nose at the Christmas dinner table."

The pastor glared at him. He did not want to be reminded of the one and only time Joshua had shared a holiday with them. Sawyer had the unfortunate problem of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. "Mackland has gone to a lot of trouble to salvage the day. I expect the rest of you to be on your best behavior."

Bobby rolled his eyes at the Pastor's praise of Ames. John grumbled something under his breath, which had Murphy turning on him. "Why don't you two go see if the lovely Doctor McCoy would like to join us? I understand that she is working today."

John looked at Singer, an evil glint lighting his dark gaze. "Mac would probably hate that."

Bobby stood up and crossed the room. "Sounds good to me. We'll ask that geeky intern that kept following him around last night like he was afraid Mackland was going to steal some tongue depressors, too. A whole damn Doctor Mackland Ames anti-fan club."

"Please tell me Dad sprung for a turkey and not some kind of weird Sea Bass or Cornish Game hen crap?" Caleb asked once the other men were gone.

"I would think that you two would be grateful for the chance to even eat a meal on this fine day, no matter what it might consist of."

"Oh, we're thankful, Jim." Dean assured him. "We'd just be even more so if we could actually pronounce what we're eating."

"Or if you could name it." Sam entered the room, a sheepish grin on his face.

It was obvious he was trying to be casual as he took Bobby's vacated seat on his brother's bed. He had both his hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

"Don't think your newly acquired status is going to keep me from taking that turkey out of your hide, kid," Caleb promised with a hard look. "There's a twenty-four hour window before the protection clause kicks in."

"Is not."

"Oh yeah," Dean spoke up. "It's in The Brotherhood handbook, fine print in the back."

"Jim?" Sam turned a baleful glance to the pastor, who was pointedly ignoring the exchange by arranging items on the sparse counter space.

"Don't worry, Sam. Mackland ordered a huge turkey with the trimmings. No one will be taking anything out of anyone's hide this year." Jim flashed the Henry and David box to the young hunters.

"Damn," Caleb sighed. "This is going to be a boring day."

Murphy turned his gaze to Dean. "And my parish provided the desserts." Jim planted a covered dish next to Dean. "Ms. Hankins' pumpkin pie rivals mine."

"Awesome," Dean reached for the lid only to have his hand smacked. "Ow!"

"Dessert implies that it is consumed after dinner, my boy."

"But…"

"No buts," Jim shook his head. Caleb laughed and Murphy cut his blue eyes back to the older hunter. "I have need of assistance in bringing in the rest of the items from my truck…wait, I don't have a truck anymore."

"Yeah," Reaves sobered, "about that…"

The pastor rocked back on his heels, his glasses balanced precariously on his nose as he peered down at Caleb still leaning back in the chair. "I'm driving the church van."

"Gotcha'." Reaves pushed himself up and held out his hand for the keys. "Me and the Boy Wonder will do your bidding."

Jim handed the keys to Sam. "Make sure he doesn't carry too much. He just got out of the hospital.

The youngest Winchester smiled and jingled the keys in front of Caleb.

"Don't look so smug, runt. What about my Jeep?"

Sam grew red and flustered and the psychic tossed an arm around his shoulder as they walked out. "We'll discuss the wash and wax job after dinner."

Dean watched them leave. He was glad for a moment alone with the pastor.

"Jim...are you sure Sam's ready for this?"

"You're referring to his ring?"

"Yeah."

The pastor leaned his hip against the bed, frowning down at the younger man. "I ponder that same question before giving each one. It is such a huge responsibility."

"But he's not even eighteen." Dean twisted his ring. The band had special meaning for him, and he wondered if his brother shared the same devotion. "He's just a kid."

Jim glanced down at his own ring. "This work has room for both saints and martyrs, Dean. But it holds a special calling for innocents. And, as you and I know, your brother is a unique individual because of that quality we have all conspired to protect in him."

"And you're not sure he'll be here when he's eighteen."

Murphy's frown deepened. "If you are insinuating that I am using The Brotherhood to ensure Sam's place with us, then you don't know me as well as I thought you did."

"No," Dean picked at the blanket. "I just don't want him to feel like he has to stay."

"You want him to choose this life."

"Yeah."

"He's not like you Dean, or like Caleb or even Joshua. But some of the most honorable hunters I have known have found themselves in the midst of this strange circle by mere circumstance, plucked out of everyday life by the hands of fate."

"Like Dad."

"Yes, and Mackland. Neither of them sought to be in the Brotherhood."

"Did you?"

Jim smiled. "I was rather like you, my boy."

Dean smiled. "I didn't ask for this life either, Jim."

"No one really does." The pastor patted the boy's leg. "But some are born to it."

"Why now then?"

"Sam trusted his instincts. He rebelled against your father's orders, and followed his own path. That's his gift." Jim explained, keeping his hand on the younger man's leg.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Not following orders is definitely Sam's talent...I don't know about a gift."

Jim laughed. "Trust me. It will work for him." He sobered some. "Although it's not always easy on those closest to him."

Winchester stared at him, licked his lips as if he wasn't sure he should ask what was obviously on his mind. "What's my gift?"

Jim felt a familiar lump spring to his throat as the image of an eight-year-old Dean asking him if he would ever be real sprang to his mind. He swallowed thickly. "Your gift is that you care too much."

"Huh?"

"You, my dear boy, are ruled by your heart above all else. It affects every one of your decisions. It makes you selfless in a rare way that few individuals ever are." The pastor grinned.

Dean exhaled loudly. "You make me sound like a girl, Jim."

"It takes the strongest of men to do what you do, Dean Mathew Winchester. Don't ever think it doesn't. Someday you will understand how special you are."

"Right," Dean rolled his eyes, then glanced to the covered dish by his bed. "Special enough to rate an appetizer."

Jim sighed, wrapped his hand around the younger man's wrist. "Hear me, Dean."

Dean glanced back to Murphy as the room seemed to grow colder. He shivered as the fingers wrapped around his wrist, suddenly burned with intensity. "Jim?" He swallowed, his gaze going from the pastor's pale hand to the pale blue eyes looking at him. Surely he was still unconscious, maybe freezing to death in the truck alongside Caleb.

Winchester jerked back as the image of the pastor continued to shimmer and change. No longer was Jim dressed in his favorite, oversized red sweater and barn coat like he remembered from that long ago day. Instead, he was wearing his priest attire, a collar saturated in blood from the deathly gash gaping across his throat. "No!" Dean tried to jerk his hand free. "Jim!"

The pastor held his gaze, his grip tightening. "Listen to your heart, Dean. Don't let this happen again. Hear me, my boy. Use _your_ gift. Help the Knight."

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_Fayetville, West Virginia, December 2006_

Dean awoke with a gasp, and found his brother's concerned face above him, instead of Jim Murphy's ghostly form. "Sammy," he breathed, raking his hand through his hair. "What the hell..."

"I was going to ask you the same thing." Sam set down the brown, grease-stained bag he was holding. "I heard you yell from the parking lot."

Dean looked around the motel room, then back to his brother, who was still dressed in his jacket and gloves. They were in West Virginia. Sam had gone for food. Right. "I...it must have been a dream."

"Nightmare is more like it." Sam knew it was useless but he had to ask. "Want to talk about it?"

As expected, the other hunter shook his head. "No."

Sam sighed. "Then you better eat your burger before it gets cold. We need to get some sleep if we're going to make it to Virginia by tomorrow evening."

Dean frowned, rubbed at his head as Jim's voice echoed through his skull. '_Trust your heart, my boy.' _

"Hey?" Sam's hand was warm on his wrist. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah." The oldest Winchester glanced up at his brother. "But we're not going to Virginia."

Sam's frown deepened. "We're not?"

"No." Dean shook his head. "We're going to North Carolina."

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A/N: This story will be continued in two Christmas stories. The first being _Charge Their Doings _by Tidia. Chapter one will be posted on December 24, 2006. The other story is _The Best and Worst of Times_ by me, Ridley. Chapter one of it will be posted on December 26, 2006. These stories are unique in that they tell one story in two different settings. They run parallel with one another, but never actually intersect until the end, although they are the **same** story. bg. It is a first, and hard to explain, so you'll just have to trust me and read them.

Also, the web page with pictures of Caleb and Joshua is up, thanks to Will, who has this disclaimer: It is a work in progress, people, construction underway, please ignore the mess. Bg. Here is the addy spelled out seeing as how we can't post such things on fanfic. www(dot)hunterstomb(dot)com.

Merry Christmas everyone. -Ridley


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